


The Death of Sansa Stark

by damnedfool



Series: The Death of Sansa Stark [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:13:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22074568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/damnedfool/pseuds/damnedfool
Summary: In a twist of fate, Sansa Stark is not stopped by Sandor when she attempts to throw herself and King Joffrey from the ramparts when he forces Sansa to look upon her father's head. A short story imagining the aftermath of such an action.
Series: The Death of Sansa Stark [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1588945
Comments: 88
Kudos: 173





	1. The Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, I appreciate you taking time out of your day to check out this story. I originally started it some time ago on fanfiction.net, but had to stop when I got too busy writing for school. I finally have the opportunity to return and am excited to share. One of the things I love about comic books and fanfics is the ability to take well-established characters and/or stories and provide fascinating alternatives. A perfect example being Superman: Red Son, which postulates a scenario where Superman does not land in America. My short story is very much inspired by these what-if type of tales. I hope you enjoy!

In the days that followed her father's execution, Sansa Stark, child of the North, young girl of thirteen, and once-proud daughter of Lady Catelyn and Lord Eddard Stark had been consumed by the despair and betrayal of recent events which left her a twisted malformed shell. Her grief had festered and carried its own odor. The foulness even seeped into the blankets, and the entirety of her chambers seemed to burn from her caustic stench.

Sansa no longer bothered to wipe away the tears that trailed down her face. Even in sleep, her eyes seemed to be a gaping wound that would not heal. Her lifeblood spilled and stained, leaving a once unblemished face red and blotchy with two thin slashes that ran down her cheeks. 

She could not bring herself to rise from bed but envisioned something monstrous if she could manage to get up and gaze into a looking glass. A fitting reflection of how she felt inside. When Sansa inevitably drained her strength from weeping, she would then fall into an uneasy sleep. 

Whenever her eyes closed and the chambers bled away, her nightmares would start. Sansa's dreams always began with the sound of footsteps, a slapping sound of leather against stone echoing across the tower's walls.

Each heavy-footed step pierced through suffocating silence, a warning louder to her than even the seven bells tolling from the Great Sept of Baelor. That harrowing sound alerted her to the horrors which slowly approached the threshold of her chamber.

Sometimes she pled for mercy, for help, she cried and howled. There were times when she hopelessly struggled to drag the cumbersome ornate furniture of her chambers in an attempt to bar the door. Other times she tried to conceal herself amongst the shadows.

On the rarest occasion, she was even brave enough to run towards the danger with a golden candelabrum in her hands ready to strike. No matter what she endeavored, Ser Ilyn Payne always walked through that door and captured her.

He was much too indomitable to run past or fight. There was no place to hide within the confined area of the chambers from his cold dead eyes. The knight slashed through tables and chairs. Any object that blocked his path to Sansa was a paltry impediment. 

Worst of all, he always carried her father's Valyrian steel great sword, the same blade she had watched him clean countless times beneath the great weirwood tree of Winterfell. The stolen weapon was stained and wept her father’s blood as Ser Ilyn made a path to her. Sansa’s pleas for mercy or cries of help fell on deaf and uncaring ears, and in the end, there was only death.

Recently her dreams had revealed another manner of escaping a cruel death by Ser Ilyn Payne's hand. The sound of his boots ascending the tower was heard, much like the innumerous versions of her same nightmare. However, when the door was forced open, a more courageous Sansa did not stiffen and curl into herself like a frightened child. 

Instead, Sansa Stark's fear was buried, her stance tall, the tears were wiped clean from her eyes, and her arms were spread open before she jumped from the tower window. She became a raven and flew home to the North, to the Old Gods, and to her father. She was free.

It troubled her that she believed the reality of such an action, perhaps wouldn't be so terrible. She imagined her broken body on the stones below; a shattered innocence to shame and expose the Lannisters as monsters. The girl in her wondered if her tale would become some tragic song, told to generations of Starks to come. 

Her more sensible nature understood that her death would make her brother’s fight for justice that much easier when he did not have a hostage to worry for. But Sansa did not know if she could be as brave as the girl in her dreams who was prepared to do the unexpected. In reality, she had no opportunity to make such a choice, because when they came for her she was unprepared and completely unaware. There were no footsteps.

 _"Get up! You will attend me in court this afternoon."_ The piercing voice of her betrothed, Joffrey Baratheon, greeted Sansa and tore through the fog of her slumber within a heartbeat.

Her body instinctively stiffened as she forced herself to look upon the hateful gaze of her husband to be. _"See that you bathe and dress as befits my betrothed. Your Northern traitor stench disgusts me! I can't have a queen that smells worse than my dog,"_ screeched Joffrey with whiny annoyance.

Sansa desired to weakly plea to be left alone, she had not the strength for Joffrey’s abrasive personality this morning. She knew better than to seek any sort of mercy from this monster, after all, he had taught her that sharp lesson when he took her father's head. But inexplicably the words left her mouth before she could swallow such foolishness, _"No. Please. I beg of you, my prince."_

Sansa knew her mistake for certain when she saw Joffrey's nostrils flare and his gaze upon her burned with even greater loathing than moments before. _"I am king now stupid girl! Dog! Get her out of bed."_

Only then had Sansa realized that Joffrey and she were not alone in her chambers. The cruel king's dreadful stare never left Sansa, even as he shouted commands, but still, her eyes frantically searched from one end of her chambers to the other. 

She was terrified Ser Ilyn Payne might have emerged from the darkness, ready to take her head. Her panic subsided slightly when she realized her nighttime tormenter was not present. Instead, Joffrey was accompanied by his sworn shield Sandor Clegane, and Ser Meryn Trant of the Kingsguard.

The Hound was surprisingly gentle in how he removed Sansa from the bed, especially for a man with such a fierce reputation. The action reminded her of a simpler time when she was much younger. She thought of her father, and how at the end of each night he used to carry her to bed, place a gentle kiss upon her temple, and leave with a quiet goodnight. 

As Sansa pushed away from the sweet memories of home and family she felt the change in her body as it stiffened to stone. She could not, would not trust benign touches or kind words in this place. Lannisters and those that served them were all liars.

Sansa became so entangled in warring emotions that her second mistake of the morning was made when vehement thoughts shot from her mouth. _"I did as the queen asked! I wrote what she told me! I won't do any treason! I just want to go home!"_ Sansa panted momentarily after shouting, and looked down as fresh tears rolled down her face.

Her gaze returned to Joffrey before she shouted even louder than before, _"I don't want to marry you! You chopped my father's head off! You…you promised to be merciful!"_

Joffrey's sneer was instantaneous and his response ugly. _"He was a traitor. I never promised to spare him, and I was merciful. If he wasn't your father I would have had him tortured and flayed... or fed to wild dogs. He was given a clean death instead."_

As Joffrey finished his sentence a proud smirk twisted his features, and Sansa wondered with shuddering disgust if he was truly delusional enough to believe that he had actually been merciful. How had Sansa been blind for so long? 

The monster that she called her betrothed was so poorly concealed. How could she have ever found him handsome when his putrid character emitted such a foul odor? _"I hate you."_ whispered Sansa. A heartbeat passed, then with more conviction she said, _"I hate you!"_

The revelation was a powerful tempestuous force within Sansa, and she could do nothing, nor desired to contain the words bursting from within her. The strike from Ser Meryn that followed her statement let her know that she had made her third mistake of the morning. Sansa could not bring herself to regret the decision. She smirked like a hungry wolf and let the blood trickle down her chin.

The moments between Joffrey's departure and the arrival of her maids passed far too quickly for Sansa. She yearned for silence once more and wished to stare at the walls, but as the maids nervously paced the entrance to her chamber Sansa gathered the strength of will to politely ask for hot water to bathe and powders to hide the new bruise. 

Her maids cleaned the blood from her face, washed and brushed her tangled dirty hair, and prepared the tub. They did not speak, nor did Sansa wish for idle prattle. After all, these were Lannister servants, and she had no true companions anymore. Those had been taken from her as well.

The hot bath made her think of Winterfell and its hot springs as the water kissed her flesh. She took momentary strength and comfort in the memory because she knew all she would ever have was her memories. Even amongst old recollections, Sansa remained uncomfortable within the stifling silence created by her maids' presence.  
  
Sansa chose to keep her eyes focused on the water as she bathed. She was shocked by how dark the water grew as they scrubbed the filth from her body, and then she remembered that she had not bathed since the day her father died. Since the day Joffrey killed her father.

Shortly after her bath, there was an impatient knock on the door that forced Sansa to quickly finish changing. One of the maids opened the door and Ser Meryn Trant pushed his way into the room. _"My lady, his grace has instructed me to escort you to the throne room."_

The way the man spoke and looked upon Sansa it was obvious to her; he viewed her as an object and not a person. Any thoughts she might have held of refusing died then; this man had no qualm in striking her. Ser Meryn Trant simply did not care. He was no true knight. There were no true knights here. Sansa did not bother to reply and remained silent as she was escorted to the Iron Throne.

When she entered the Great Hall Sansa saw him first, Joffrey seated upon his throne, towering over all others as he dispensed the twisted acts of cruelty which delighted him to call justice. Joffrey's attention was fixated on a very pale and nervous-looking tavern singer, so her arrival went unnoticed by her betrothed. She was almost thankful for the small blessing until she witnessed what came next.

The singer had been accused of writing and playing a song that mocked the late King Robert. The minstrel was ordered at sword point to replay his work, a song that had become a favorite among many taverns of King's Landing. 

As the shaking singer finished Joffrey laughed and called the entire thing amusing with a smile that never left his face. Joffrey's response earned a nervous chuckle and a hopeful widening of the eyes of the singer. However, his face twisted into horrified understanding and despair when Joffrey asked still wearing that ugly little sneer, _"Which do you prefer, your fingers or your tongue?"_

It was not until Joffrey had concluded hearing petitions for the day and slowly descended the Iron Throne that his eyes met with Sansa's. One look from the man she once foolishly thought herself to be in love with and Sansa knew her day was far from finished. 

Joffrey seemingly always had some new torture for her. He approached her, Ser Meryn and Sandor a few paces behind their king, and spoke in a soft tone one might have mistaken as gentle and affectionate had someone never met Joffrey, _"You look much better my lady. Walk with me."_

The king wrapped his arm through her own, like a serpent ensnaring its prey, and Sansa was given no choice but to follow. His touch might have once thrilled and excited her, but those hands choked her with overwhelming feelings of revulsion and hatred now. Sansa dug the nails of her free hand into her palm and drew blood. The pain she caused herself kept Sansa from wrenching free of cruel soft hands the moment his flesh made contact with her own.

They walked through the Red Keep and to the outside areas of the castle. Joffrey spoke of his upcoming name day and inquired about what gifts Sansa might be giving him. She pictured a knife through his heart, or poison in his wine, but did not voice such thoughts. 

As they continued their walk, Sansa suddenly realized with horrifying clarity she knew exactly where Joffrey planned to take her. She regretted that she had not told him the kind of name day gift she would like to have given him. 

The scared little girl emerged once more, and Sansa pled with tears in her eyes not to be taken up the steps. Joffrey threatened to have Ser Meryn drag her should she refuse, but it was the Hound and three simple words that caused her feet to move forward. Each step was a struggle, and the further she walked the more steps there seemed to be. She thought the climb a nightmare, but the true horror awaited her above on the ramparts.

High above most of King's Landing, the world seemed open and free. Sansa saw country fields and dense forests beyond the walls. At a distance far from what could be seen she knew lay the North and Winterfell. She shuddered with sadness at the thought that this wall would be the closest she would ever come to home.

Childhood memories were cut down before they could truly take form by the aggravated tone of Joffrey as he asked, _"What are you looking at? This is what I wanted you to see. This one is your father. Dog! Turn it around so she can get a proper look."_

Sansa knew as king, Joffrey could force her to look at whatever he wished, but she made a promise to herself that he would not make her see. The head had been covered with tar in hopes of preservation, but the severed head did not look anything like her father. 

That thing did not look like Lord Eddard Stark, Warden of the North. The head did not even seem real. Sansa stared unblinking and unfocused upon the head for several moments before she turned to her betrothed and asked, _"How long must I look?"_

Her response visibly displeased Joffrey, and with dark cruel eyes, he led her to the rest of his collection. There were many heads left on display, though she could not recognize any that Joffrey had pointed out. 

One head he claimed was her former Septa, and mentioned another belonging to Jory Cassel, who once served as captain of her father's household guard. Joffrey had pikes reserved for his Uncles Stannis and Renly, and even one for Ser Barristan Selmy, the former Lord Commander Joffrey had decided to dismiss from his Kingsguard vows.

Next, Joffrey spoke of her brother and how he would present his head as a wedding present for Sansa. She lost what little tolerance that remained and venomously spat, _"Maybe my brother will give me yours!"_ This earned her another strike from Ser Meryn, and then another when Joffrey was not satisfied by the first. He had been quite displeased by her comment.

Sansa's head pounded, her lip was busted, and the fallen tears mixed with the blood on her face. Joffrey looked upon her with disgust and spat in a tone full of hate, _"Gods you're all messy again! You shouldn't be crying all the time. I won't have a filthy sniveling girl as a wife. Wipe yourself!"_

Sansa did not truly hear his words however, because her gaze was fixed upon the inner walkway of the wall. There was nothing but a long plunge to the hard stone below. Joffrey was so close, and all it would take is a shove Sansa told herself. She cared not that she would fall with him. 

Sansa Stark thought of the dream, wiped the tears from her eyes, and charged. As they plummeted, the girl in her wondered if her tale would become a song. She heard Joffrey screaming and said with a wolfish grin, _"It does not matter, what is important is that I am free."_


	2. A Hound Without a Master

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to everyone who read the first chapter, and I hope you've decided to return for this one. I Just have a brief note for this chapter. To the best of my knowledge, there really isn't any information on the sister of Sandor and Gregor. I decided to take some liberties in writing the character, but I don't think her story will seem too far-fetched.

Elinor, his sweet little sister, Sandor Clegane did what he could to keep those memories buried deep beneath the visage of the Hound he chose to adorn. A mask that made a mockery of the ideals of chivalry and knighthood that he and his sister once adored. Two years younger than he, the two had always been the closest of siblings.

As a boy, Sandor dreamed, as so many children did, of becoming a famous knight renowned throughout the Seven Kingdoms for their honor and skill. He had imagined himself entering in the greatest of tourneys where he would come across a beautiful nobleman's daughter, and his great victory would win him her admiration, love, and hand in marriage. His sister, who was his ever-present shadow, of course adopted these dreams. Elinor wanted a gallant knight of her own who would be her greatest protector and eternal love.

Sandor had wanted that for his little sister, who he knew would have grown to be one of the great beauties of the Seven Kingdoms. She shared the same grey eyes of both he and their brother Gregor, but hers always shined brighter than any star amongst the night sky.

She had an innocence and kindness that might have rivaled The Maiden herself. Her long light brown hair was several shades lighter than the much plainer hue of his and Gregor's. He often told Elinor it was her inner light, which was so effulgent and pure, that made her hair so much lighter than the rest of the family. 

She had a keen eye for poetry and music, and harbored a great desire to become accomplished in the high harp when she was older. Had she lived Elinor certainly would have been the best of House Clegane. Sandor did not like thinking of the sister he failed, and so he kept himself drowned in red, in blood and wine.

Sansa Stark often reminded Sandor of the sister he lost. The two did not share much in common in appearance, but their personalities were almost one and the same. At first, the similarities angered Sandor, and he used the Hound to ensure he was feared by Sansa so that she would keep a distance from him. It did not take long however before his gaze begun to seek out the girl.

He was haunted by her interactions with family, friends, and servants. To Sandor, Sansa was the ghost of his beloved sister Elinor, of the girl she would have become if she had lived to Sansa’s age. He often spent his days at Winterfell drunk on wine to repress the blackness and bile of his past as a result.

Once he returned to King's Landing with the contentious royal family and the wide-eyed Starks things became easier for Sandor. He had his own duties to attend, and the Starks had their own household guard to ensure the safety of Sansa and her family. 

Joffrey knew Sansa feared Sandor, so he was often sent away when the two were together. The maneuver was all part of Joffrey's role as the kind prince. Sandor's short reprieve from torturous memories was not to last however, because everything changed with the death of Lord Stark and the crowning of Joffrey.

Sandor had thought Sansa's similarities to Elinor’s temperament were terrible for him, but it was a minor burn compared to the hellfire of Joffrey's cruelty that desired the scorching of everything that made Sansa beautiful to leave naught but ashes. Each strike, every tear shed, and all the indignities Sansa faced was akin to his nightmarish recollections of Elinor's inner light having been snuffed out far too early by an unfair world. 

Sansa Stark became a caged little bird. Her wings clipped, and her voice forced to chirp only the songs that pleased the cruel royals. He hated this, and despised Joffrey for it. Sandor kept himself drowned in wine to dull the pain of service, to try and forget the vacant blue eyes that once held so much hope and wonderment.

Sandor cursed his weakness; because of it, he failed Sansa just as he failed his sister. The afternoon on the ramparts he had been drunk on wine. Sandor knew Joffrey planned to force Sansa to look upon the severed head of her father, so he drank far too much sour Dornish red to cope with his day. 

Had he not been muddled with a head full of drink he would have been quick enough to stop Sansa from such foolishness. Or had he not been so shackled by his own weakness, he would have honored the ideals he and his sister once shared. He would have taken Sansa far away from the cruelty of the Lannisters, and back to the North where she would have truly effloresced.

Queen Regent Cersei Lannister may have been a hysterical mess at the death of her favorite son, but such emotions had done nothing to quell the woman's rage. The sun had not even set, and already Cersei had issued warrants for the arrests of Ser Meryn Trant and himself on charges of treason. 

Sandor knew the Lannisters were snakes, after all years of service had taught him that much, so the action did not surprise him. But he would damn himself to the worst of the Seven Hells before letting the death of Sansa Stark be twisted into a tale which fit whatever Lannister agenda that would have made Cersei's deranged golden son into a victim.

Cersei sent a group of eight gold cloaks to arrest Sandor, which proved to him that she was truly a fool. If Ser Barristan Selmy had killed and eluded capture from a group of three gold cloaks without a sword or armor; what had she expected to accomplish with eight pathetic green boys. He had a reputation as one of the most fearsome and savage fighters in Westeros. The City Watch members that attempted to capture him were nothing but gnats before his blade and anger. 

Their blood dripped from his sword and feeble scratches marked his armor. Sandor knew it was time to flee King's Landing lest the queen correct her mistake and send an adequate number of men, but there was a small trip to be made before leaving the city. Sandor made his way to the Broken Anvil on the night of his escape, a local winesink frequented by whores, singers, sailors, and the commonfolk.

He carried the snarling dog helm that he was infamously known to wear so no patrons would mistake who walked in. Such a choice was a risk of course, but he needed every patron to know he was Sandor Clegane, the Hound, a former sworn shield of Joffrey Baratheon. Doing so ensured the truth of Sansa Stark would hold weight.

His weakness yearned for a jug of sour red, dark as blood, while he was seated amongst people drinking and gossiping, but he could no longer be weak. Sandor needed to become a man that Elinor and Sansa would have called a true knight, not a dog. 

He would never take the hypocritical vows so many other men anointed as knights had taken, but still, in his actions he would honor them. Sandor would also honor Sansa by spreading the truth of the bravery of a northern girl who was far away from home and family without hope.

The men and women of the Broken Anvil eyed him wearily, but all the same they listened to his tale. He told them of a girl of the North who dreamed of a handsome southern prince riding to her home with a promise that he would honor, cherish, and love her. He explained how the girl pictured a kingdom filled with wonderment and excitement, of a place where hopes and dreams came to fruition.

Then he told the patrons how this kind girl realized she was betrothed to a cruel monster that tried to have her younger brother murdered in his sickbed. A wicked prince who lied about his own ineptitude, and had his betrothed's animal companion killed with his many falsehoods. He spoke of a prince who became king and used his authority to have his Kingsguard beat and humiliate the girl to relieve his frustrations and shortcomings.

The kingdom she dreamed of became her prison, and the girl lost her only sister the same day the newly crowned king took her father's head and called it mercy. Cruelest of all he forced the girl to look upon her father's severed head with a promise on his lips to add the heads of the rest of her family. Sandor explained how this girl, who had been tormented and destroyed, was forced to learn the harsh truth that life wasn't like the songs. 

Then Sansa Stark of Winterfell remembered the wolf blood deep within her shared by all her family. She knew she would never return home, but could avenge the family she had lost in the South. The girl wiped the tears from her face and showed that cruel king that even the meekest amongst the Starks still had claws. Sandor knew the truth of all this because he was the king's sworn shield and shadow. He was knowledgeable of all King Joffrey’s secrets.

As he rose from his chair and exited the establishment he left his snarling hound’s head helm so those that heard his tale would remember who he was and the truth he spoke. He had no need for the helm anymore anyways because he was no longer a Lannister dog.

Under the cover of darkness and beneath a cart filled with armaments Sandor Clegane made his way through the River Gate and out of the city. This would be where his journey as a man and not a hound would truly begin


	3. Son of Tywin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be the longest chapter of this story. My first draft was even lengthier, but I believe trimming it down made for a better piece of writing. What I didn't use will be appearing in a future chapter. Anyways, I hope y'all enjoy it. Thanks for reading!

As Tyrion Lannister once again set sight upon the ugly white turrets of the inn at the crossroads, he cursed having to return. He never wished to revisit the place that had brought him such misfortune for as long as he still drew breath. He would have considered himself a happier man if he could simply keep riding. His life, unfortunately, had always been out of his hands. Happiness was unattainable to him. A lifetime spent as the unwanted son of the omnipotent Lord Tywin Lannister, kept hidden away from the prying eyes that dwelt within Casterly Rock and denied sight of the world from such a young age had assured him of this fact.

Even from a distance, Tyrion could see the dilapidated state of crumbling walls made from the same hideous white stone that had been used for the turrets which surrounded the inn. He wondered if the pile of bricks had ever been pleasant to look upon. Perhaps years ago when a different name was carved in the sign hanging above the door, and dragons still ruled the kingdoms.

The building had once been called Bellringer Inn, many years ago, named for the bell tower that had been built on the north side of the inn by the owner of the time. Tyrion could not say if it was wise or foolish that the builder had decided to use stone of a completely different color than that of the white stone used previously for the inn itself. The discrepancy of color certainly made the structure stand out, but to his eyes, it made the inn a blemish upon the landscape. 

During his first visit on the way to Winterfell, the owner, Masha Heddle, had talked at great length of the history of her inn and its many names. However, Tyrion's attentions had eventually been captivated by a pretty redheaded whore seated several tables across his soon forgotten meal. 

Bellringer Inn was the only name that stuck within his memory, and he had been surprised to even recall that insipid detail. Tyrion had spent far too much of the conversation studiously focusing on the bouncing of the redhead's breasts as she laughed along with drunken patrons enjoying the night.

Tyrion believed he might have forgotten his own name had Masha asked at the moment. Unfortunately, he did not have a chance to bed the pretty whore on his first visit, and so Tyrion had been hoping he would spend a night with her after returning from the Wall. 

Instead, he was taken hostage by Lady Catelyn Stark, a beautiful but much angrier redhead. He remembered how Masha had begged Lady Catelyn and her company to take their fight elsewhere, but Lady Stark was an angry mother who only craved vengeance.

Masha had been wise to beseech Lady Catelyn. Tyrion understood his father, almost as well as he knew tremendous tits and wonderful wine. Tywin Lannister would not grant forgiveness to the people who allowed a Lannister of Casterly Rock to be taken under their roof. Tyrion had his proof not much later when he and his mountain clansmen rode closer to the inn.

The brown-haired woman hung from a gibbet crudely constructed with careless indifference. Her teeth had always been stained red from the sourleaf the woman chewed, but the beating the woman received in the last moments of her life had instead discolored her mouth a fouler red with dried blood. 

It seemed to Tyrion that the wrong people were always punished for the schemes of others. He would have gladly seen Catelyn Stark or her insane sister Lysa Arryn hung for trying to have him killed. Better yet Petyr Baelish for telling Lady Stark the assassin's blade belonged to him and starting the whole mess.

Instead, he was given the corpse of Masha Heddle, disfigured and almost unrecognizable, even to Tyrion, who believed himself great at recognizing faces and remembering names. After all it was a useful skill that was practically a necessity for a noble dwarf. Seeing her swing beneath the tree was hollow. It was an empty victory against a nonexistent enemy. For his father, this was just another Lannister lesson.

Tywin Lannister had taken Masha's inn as his own residence while he and his army remained encamped by the Trident. Masha was certainly no longer around to complain about such an arrangement. The last of the daylight faded before his father called the council forth. Tyrion spent his idle time trying to find the whore but could find no trace of the redhead he hoped could distract him. 

After a fruitless search, Tyrion was amongst the last of the men to enter the makeshift council chambers. A dark cloud of his frustrations and unfulfilled arousal followed him. To make a poor evening even worse, Tyrion learned that a messenger had arrived at some point during his unsuccessful hunt with dire news. The man had ridden his horse to near-death, and the gangly unkempt messenger looked half-dead from exhaustion himself.

Tyrion could hardly believe the foul words the courier reported to the gathered lords. He gaped at the news that somehow Jamie had been captured. There was no one in the Seven Kingdoms that could rival Jamie in sword fighting. They called him the deadliest blade in Westeros for a reason. Tyrion pondered on the fact that every nobleman had severely underestimated the young Robb Stark, and what that mistake might cost his family. 

His father had taken his men on a grueling march south in an attempt to reach Riverrun before Robb Stark. All the dying and weak soldiers left behind day after day to ensure quick travel had been for nothing. Stark had reached Riverrun days before the assembled lords and bannermen of the Westerlands, and now his brother was a prisoner.

 _"Gods, how could Ser Jamie let this happen? I don't understand what madness would compel Ser Jamie to make himself so vulnerable to capture.”_ Ser Harys Swyft cried out in confusion.

Tyrion was disgusted by the chinless craven’s comment. Ser Harys greatest accomplishment was merely being an incredibly fortunate lickspittle that auspiciously fell upon where he would not otherwise belong because of the luck of who his daughter married. Anger burned through him that this simpleton had the audacity to call his brother a fool.

Tyrion held tongue and raised the goblet to his mouth before such thoughts escaped him. His uncle, Ser Kevan Lannister, perhaps sensing his discontent amongst the slight on his beloved brother replied in a calm but firm tone. _"I would have done the same."_

_"You have never seen Riverrun Ser Harys. Otherwise, you would have known that Ser Jamie had little choice in the matter.”_

Ser Kevan paused for a moment and his brow furrowed, _"The Tullys forced his hand. There was no other way."_

The bedraggled messenger was quick to agree with his uncle. _"Too true m’lord. There was no warning of an attack. Almost all the outriders sent out disappeared leaving us with little information, useful or otherwise. The one or two outriders that did return saw nothing."_

_"Ser Jamie went out to the Whispering Wood to find what he thought was a small band of men that had been killing the outriders and raiding supplies the night before."_

The courier’s voice became shrill as he continued, _"We thought the Stark host was east of the Green Fork. We thought the killings might be Ser Marq Piper and a small party's work. We never expected a giant wolf and waves of Stark cavalry to come crashing down upon us."_

Ser Gregor Clegane's voice cut in, his booming speech as large as the man himself, _"What use do such useless men need of eyes? Their eyes should have been taken from them and given to the next outrider who would put them to better use."_

Tyrion turned his head ever so slightly to better gaze upon his father. He was interested to see how the Warden of the West might respond to his monster’s advice. Tyrion was unsure if he would see approval or disgust reflected in the green eyes so unlike his own. However, what he witnessed bothered him deeply.

Lord Tywin Lannister was often quiet during any assembly. He preferred to listen to his lords' ideas and words before speaking. This was one of the few traits of his father Tyrion tried to emulate. Father was silent, but his attention was absent. The great lord paramount of the Westerlands was not present in the room with the others. Instead, his gaze was unfocused and far away. Tyrion was uncomfortable with such a sight and adjusted himself to look upon the sweaty and tired courier once again.

The poor messenger looked absolutely terrified to have the attention of Ser Gregor upon him, yet the man simply gulped and nodded dumbly to the Mountain's advice. A moment passed before he gained control of his tongue, and then the messenger continued. _"It was a massacre m’lords, two thousand men-at-arms, and a hundred knights were either captured or killed."_

Ser Kevan interrupted, the calm tone from earlier frayed into a tense bundle of hope and fear, _"What of my son Willem or Genna's Boys, Tion and Cleos? Have you any news of what became of them at the Whispering Wood?"_

The man looked to his feet after hearing his uncle's question. Tyrion knew the courier had nothing to say that would be pleasing. The man finally raised his eyes to meet his uncle's pained stare and spoke, _"I am sorry Ser Kevan. Willem Lannister was fighting alongside Ser Jamie and was captured. Ser Cleos and Tion Frey were taken in the battle as well."_

Tyrion broke his silence. _"So it appears Robb Stark is not so much the green boy everyone was expecting him to be. He now holds Riverrun, so I can't imagine anything good became of the three siege camps in Jamie's absence. Enlighten us, please."_

The courier was quick to reply, _"Aye Lord Tyrion two of the three camps were destroyed. The Tyroshi sellsword in command of the freeriders betrayed us and joined with Robb Stark. Their defection crumbled what little fight remained in the men. The fight was lost not soon after."_

His uncle groaned, _"I warned Jamie that no good would come of working with sellswords. They can never be trusted."_

Tyrion decided not to offer his own thoughts on that statement. He rather liked his sellsword and trusted him as long as he had the gold to pay for such unwavering loyalty. Instead he asked the messenger, _"You said two of the three camps were lost, what of the last?"_

 _"The eastern camp had roughly two thousand archers and spearmen; they retreated to the Golden Tooth under command of Ser Forley Prester,"_ the messenger responded.

Ser Harys decided to cry out once more, the fear evident in his voice, _"We must sue for peace!"_

Tyrion was already unsatisfied and agitated, therefore he lacked the patience to hold his tongue a second time. His response was swift. He threw the wine goblet from his hands at the wall behind Ser Harys' bald head. The shattered cup silenced the room and let all know what he thought of any hope for peace. _“All was lost when King Joffrey took Lord Eddard Stark’s head.”_

The various assembled lords of the table broke out into an argument. Each had their own ideas as to what should be done next. None of the shouting fools seemed to agree on a single course of action and Tyrion scoffed any plan spoken. He knew Jamie would never be exchanged for two little girls. Robb Stark would lose any respect of his bannermen for such an action. 

Lord Tywin Lannister unleashed a mighty roar, as if he were truly a lion and had been awoken from slumber by foolish and unlucky prey. _"All of you out, now!"_

Tyrion was quick to jump from his chair. He likely would have been the first to retreat from the room, rushing to the comforting embrace of wine, had his father not stopped him with a call. _"Not you Tyrion. Ser Kevan, stay as well"_

When all the men had left his father finally spoke again, _"Perhaps you are not the twisted little fool you choose to appear as Tyrion. You were right about Robb Stark. Alive his father could have been used as a bargaining tool to make peace with the North. It would have given us valuable time to deal with the threat of the Baratheon brothers."_

 _"Oh you are only partially correct father. I am after all, still a twisted little thing."_ Tyrion responded with a mocking grin.

Lord Tywin sighed before continuing, _"As a severed head, Lord Stark holds no value. His execution was madness. What poisonous council is the boy receiving to think killing Stark a wise decision?"_

_"And the ineptitude of your sister! Cersei has always had that boy clinging to her skirts, yet where was she as Joffrey began his reign stumbling from one folly to the next?"_

Tyrion chose not to respond, he did not think his father was looking for an answer. Lord Tywin was quick to continue on, _"Your sister has kept her eyes shut as the son she claims to love above all has begun a war that will quite likely lead to his death. Yet she thinks to command me..."_

His father’s eyes were always cold, but somehow they became more glacial. The tone in his voice when he spoke was as frozen as his eyes. Tyrion knew the tone well because he had many memories of it from his past. It had been exclusively used when talking to or about him. _"Those two have made a complete mess of the rule in King's Landing. They have endangered the Lannister legacy."_

_"Cersei has been hiding the news of Renly, in fear that Joffrey may leave the city undefended to chase after his uncle. Cersei has allowed everything to fall to the precipice of ruin, and she thinks to command me as if I were a mere servant she would order to clean up spilled wine. This will not do, I grow tired of Cersei's foolishness."_

_"Varys has reported that Renly Baratheon has married Margaery Tyrell. The strength of Highgarden is now bound to his cause. The important majority of the Stormlands have declared for Renly as well."_

_"If Renly thinks he can suddenly crown himself a king, I worry what Stannis might attempt. Yet he hides in Dragonstone seemingly committed to inaction, but he shall eventually emerge. He is the true threat between the two brothers. Varys remains uncertain of what Stannis has been plotting beyond unsubstantiated rumors. The strangest of what Varys has learned is that a shadowbinder from Asshai is in the personal company of Stannis giving counsel."_

Tyrion looked at his father as if he had made a jape. _"A shadowbinder? I never thought Stannis to be a man that believed in witches. For him to actually seek out the aid of one is madness. Are you sure Varys is not wrong in this? It seems too farfetched."_

His uncle responded, _"It does not matter at the moment Tyrion, there are much more pressing concerns. If we remain here we will be caught between armies."_

His father nodded in agreement. " _You are correct Ser Kevan, and so tomorrow we must march for Harrenhal."_

_"Tell Ser Gregor to gather his men. I want the Riverlands from the God’s Eye to the Red Fork in flames"_

His uncle rose from his chair, _"Then they shall burn. I will go give the command."_

After his uncle left the room, Lord Tywin turned to Tyrion and said, _"Your savages might relish in the opportunity for mindless destruction and death. Tell them they can ride with either Vargo Hoat and the brave companions or Ser Gregor."_

Tyrion did not care for the suggestion at all. He would prefer to keep men loyal to him by his side. He said as much to his father. _"I think I would prefer to keep my mountain clansmen with me."_

Lord Tywin's eyes sharpened at the rebuff, _"Then you will control them Tyrion. I will not have the city plundered."_

Tyrion was confused because his father had just mentioned marching to Harrenhal. He questioned, _“What city father?”_

_"King's Landing. I am sending you to court."_

Tyrion responded still confused, _"And what will I be doing in King's Landing?"_

_"You are to act as Hand of the King in my stead. You will get Joffrey and Cersei under control. You will stop such idiocy as the dismissal of Ser Barristan Selmy from happening again. You must also begin looking into his councilors and discover which have been playing the boy false."_

_"Heads, spikes, walls. I have learned a few things from you, father."_ Tyrion quipped. _"But why me? Why not my uncle or anyone else for that matter?"_

Tywin's face held no emotion as he gave Tyrion a long calculated look, _"Because Tyrion, you are my son."_

* * *

On his journey to King’s Landing half the sky was engulfed by a bright red comet. As a child, Tyrion had been obsessed with dragons, and he yearned for one of his own. Tyrion knew such a dream would never be realized, and so he sated his curiosities of the virtually mythic creatures with books. 

Tyrion remembered one such work where it was written that a comet heralded the birth of dragons. He liked to think such a thing might be possible, but a lifetime of unhappiness and unfulfilled wishes robbed Tyrion of such naive youthful optimism.

Most of the clansmen were either drunk or hung-over on the abundant offerings of wine and ale and remained relatively quiet. His sellsword Bronn seemed perfectly content to enjoy the silence, so when he was not day-dreaming of dragons Tyrion had much time to reflect upon the last conversation he had with his father.

 _"You are my son."_ His father's words swirled inside his skull in an endless spiral.

Tyrion remembered the vacant gaze his father had as the assembled lords argued amongst themselves. His only action of the meeting had been throwing all the men out. Tyrion began to piece together his father's peculiar behavior the more he contemplated that night. Tyrion realized with great bitterness that his father had spent the evening mourning his son then processing the next move to be made. The black-hearted bastard had given up Jamie for dead. 

A world without his brother in his life was not something Tyrion wished to imagine, so to distract himself from the revelation he looked to the roads and its travelers for distraction. There were a great number of travelers along the kingsroad. He had no doubt many were commonfolk escaping the embattled Riverlands to seek shelter at King's Landing. 

Despite the road being littered with people, there was a considerable distance of empty space between the other travelers and Tyrion's group. He knew the commonfolk feared the faces of Timett, Ulf, Chella, and his many other mountain clansmen. Tyrion understood their fear because he was certainly unnerved by the necklaces of severed ears worn by Chella and her group of Black Ears. 

Amongst the many fearful, worn, and distrustful eyes Tyrion eventually made contact with a pair he recognized. They belonged to a man with long tangled black hair and a thick matted beard, Yoren of the Nights Watch, a grim fellow, but one Tyrion considered a friend.

They only had a chance to speak briefly. Yoren seemed determined to get his new recruits to Castle Black and away from the war in the Riverlands. Yoren told Tyrion of the chaos at King's Landing the day of Lord Eddard Stark's execution. He had thought he would be taking Lord Stark north until King Joffrey called for the man’s head. Tyrion was warned not to expect a warm reception by the inhabitants of the city when he returned to King's Landing.

Tyrion never expected smiling faces wherever he went. He knew only the whores smiled for him, but really their smiles were for his gold. His trip to King’s Landing would be no different than any other he thought distastefully.

Tyrion felt a burning sensation at the back of his neck during the entirety of his conversation with Yoren. He noticed a pair of grey eyes that leaked with overflowing contempt staring a hole into him. When he saw the boy's eyes he could not help but think of Jon Snow and his time at Castle Black, although Jon never looked upon Tyrion with such scorn.

Travel remained mostly uneventful after his encounter with Yoren until Tyrion stepped in horse droppings at dusk. He hopped on one foot cursing his luck and searching for anything to clean the shit from his boot. His misfortune was quite amusing to his companions, but Tyrion was most certainly not entertained. 

Thankfully the Ivy Inn appeared in the distance not much later. Tyrion was excited to spend the rest of his evening in much better company, preferably company with large breasts. He would never be bothered by a soft fleshy pillow for his bed.

When Tyrion, Bronn, and the mountain clansmen of the Vale arrived at the ivy-covered inn things were not as he had anticipated. The entire building was in chaos. Patrons of the establishment and other travelers were packed into the common room of the inn surrounding an aging septon in faded brown robes with a small metal bowl chained about his neck.

The weathered man was in the middle of a speech when Tyrion approached, _"The Conclave has declared the end of this long summer, and a harsh winter is coming to replace it. Lord Eddard Stark's execution at the steps of the Great Sept of Baelor has profaned the sanctity of the Sept and the Faith of the Seven."_

The septon raised his hands above his head, gesturing to the sky hidden by the inn's roof. _"This comet seen by all of Westeros is a harbinger of the punishment coming to the Crown for its irreverence of the gods. The gods have found their supposed defenders of the Faith unworthy, and the god's sword now falls down upon us to slay the season and bring forth the coldest of winters to punish the undeserving."_

Tyrion understood how dangerous the Faith turning against the crown could be, and that such thoughts needed to be eliminated. As he pondered on what could be done to remedy such a catastrophe one of the other individuals surrounding the septon interrupted his thoughts, _"That comet is no sign of the new gods. It’s the work of the old gods and the North."_

Another patron responded, _"Aye! I heard the comet is the Lady Sansa Stark trying to return home to the North and her gods. The girl's long auburn Tully hair is why the comet is red."_

Tyrion was confused, what in the seven hells did Sansa Stark have to do with a comet? Before Tyrion could ask a question of his own, a young woman with braided chestnut hair and sun-kissed skin said, _"No, no, the girl does not just return home. Her purpose is greater. Haven't you heard about Sandor Clegane?"_

Another woman cursed the name Clegane, but the girl ignored her and continued on, _"Sandor Clegane was there. He was there that day with Sansa Stark and King Joffrey at the Red Keep."_

She smiled before continuing, and at any other time, Tyrion would have admired the grin. _"The tales say he was in love with the king's betrothed. He hated knights but joined the Kingsguard so he could protect Sansa. She had lost her father and family and Sandor wanted to save her from being next. "_

Her smile died then, _"The king was the one person he could not protect Sansa from though. King Joffrey tormented Sansa with the head of her father, so she killed herself and the wicked king. Sandor Clegane could not save the woman he loved, so he made a vow of vengeance in the godswood that he and Sansa shared in secret. The gods of the North listened."_

A gleam of the young woman's smile returned, _"The comet is Sansa's spirit, inspiring the North to victory and she appears day and night to guide and protect her love as he travels north to King Robb Sta-"_

Tyrion's head was pounding, his hands thick with layers of sweat. He could listen to no more. He stepped outside the inn into the cool night air and was consumed by gnawing images of death. It was not Joffrey's broken corpse he imagined. No, it was his brother Jamie, nothing left but a severed head. Tyrion understood with horror that Sansa had not just killed Joffrey, but Jamie too.

Tyrion whispered to his brother who would never hear, _"You started all this when you shoved Bran Stark from a tower. The gods have seen fit to pay you and Cersei back in kind."_


	4. A Fate Deserved

Blanched knuckles clenched the uneven makeshift table within his personal pavilion. Drops of blood trickled to hard brown earth below and blended with the dirt beneath his marred travel-worn leather boots.

Robb Stark did not sense the splintered slivers of table embedded into his palms or the lazily gathering small red puddle at his feet. His sight blistered against flickering candlelight as his incensed eyes converged on catastrophic truth scribed into parchment.

Lord Stannis Baratheon, no King Stannis Baratheon as he now proclaimed to Westeros, had dispatched ravens throughout the Seven Kingdoms with the revelation his father had lost his life to discern. Joffrey Baratheon was no true king, nor was he a true Baratheon.

The prick had been an abomination conceived of the incestuous coupling of Cersei and Jamie Lannister. A wretched spawn created from all the putrid corruption that oozed from the Lannister twins. In fact, all three children were of the same tainted bloodline. Joffrey was now nothing but a shattered corpse and Tommen was a small boy from perverted blood who could never be a true king. Thus Stannis, as the oldest living Baratheon, was now the rightful King of the South.

His father had died in an attempt to grant mercy to those children. Robb knew his honor would have left no other choice. His father then betrayed that honor and called himself a traitor to try and save the daughters he loved. That sacrifice had been for nothing though, and his sisters both lost their lives shortly after. His family was wholly unprepared for the malicious creature masquerading in the flesh of a boy, but that worm also never expected Sansa to be just as much a wolf as the rest of her family. He just abhorred that his sister was forced to give her life to have that revolting beast killed.

He would never again witness her jubilant smiles as she tended to their youngest siblings, or chuckle at Sansa's youthful exasperation due to Arya's mischevious escapades. Robb would never have the opportunity to instruct Arya in sword lessons or marvel in her inevitable mastery. The Lannisters deprived Robb of the auspicious expectation that he would watch his sisters blossom into the next generation of incredible Stark women. He loathed the Lannisters for that loss the most. 

Robb cursed King Robert for riding North and bringing with him all the pernicious filth which conjured the misfortune that had befallen his family. He wished his father had been better prepared for a place where honesty meant little. Lord Eddard Stark had always wielded his honor as a shield carried into battle, but when the fighting actually began it became a cumbersome burden that had only weighed his father down. The South was not a place for integrity.

The Reach had sent ravens weeks earlier with a message proclaiming another to be the true King of the Seven Kingdoms and urging all lords to lend their support. Oddly their proclamation made no mention of the incest as reason for the disinheritance of the charlatan princes.

Robb thought perhaps that information did not truly matter when Renly Baratheon was the youngest brother. Selfish desire is what endorsed Renly's claim for the throne, the consequences of usurping his brother be damned. His thoughts wandered to stories of the Baratheon brothers recounted by his father to him and his brother. The two of them had been interested to see if the king's brothers had shared a bond as close as he and Jon.

King Stannis Baratheon was described as grim, unflinching, and dutiful above all else. He was not a man that made friends with other nobles or even his brothers, and his abrasive character ensured he never won the hearts of the smallfolk and soldiers. Unfortunately for Stannis, he did not share the charming personality of his family, who could make friends out of enemies, but he was still older than Renly.

King Renly Baratheon had exploited that weakness and usurped a staggering amount of the fighting strength Stannis would surely need to claim the Iron Throne. He had also won himself the might and bountiful harvests of Highgarden by marrying himself to an ambitious Lord Paramount's daughter. Renly may not have had any right to the Iron Throne, but he was winning the support to make himself king regardless.

They were trueborn brothers and yet Renly had betrayed the bonds of family. Renly had decided that he would take the throne by conquest, like Robert before him. The man had done what Robb's mother always feared Jon, his imagined children, or grandchildren might one day attempt. Jon was not Renly though. Jon was a far better man.

Robb missed his brother and best friend wildly. They would not have the chance to mourn their sisters together for a very long time. Robb knew Jon would not take the news of Arya's murder well, and he was dejected by the knowledge that his brother would wallow in such grief alone. He should have never been separated from Jon, and he was having a difficult time moving past his mother's hatred that was born of fear which forced Jon from Winterfell and his life.

He loved his mother of course, but she never stopped to envisage the damaging consequences of her choices as she tried safeguarding only those she considered family. The loneliness which consumed Robb made him resentful. So much had happened and he wished for Jon to be by his side because his brother had just as much of a right to avenge their family. They were both the sons of Lord Eddard Stark. Instead, Jon was far away at the edge of the North and Robb was in the South fighting a war alone.

Robb finally released his wounded hands from splintered wood as he turned to walk outside his pavilion. The night sky was clouded and the only light arose from candles and torches of the tents throughout the encampment. He nodded to the men-at-arms, the knights, and other camp followers he passed, but otherwise did not engage his men.

His father had always told him it was important to talk with and know those who serve you, but this night Robb's mind was plagued by questions only one man had answers to. He would speak with him unaccompanied.

The Kingslayer appeared to Robb as a crumbling statue. A forgotten relic of a long conquered kingdom in the likeness of a ruler none remembered or recognized. His once golden hair was now brown from all the dirt that had congealed in his hair. The tunic and breeches he wore had become rotting strips of fabric stinking of excrement and filth.

Jamie's face was hollow from hunger, and the mud-caked beard that had grown made him appear unrecognizable. His eyes however, those green orbs still blazed with the same defiance he had seen the day the Kingslayer had been captured at the Whispering Wood.

When Robb opened the cage he was immediately taunted by the Kingslayer for taking him from camp to camp rather than leaving him in a castle’s dungeon. _"Have you grown so fond of me that you cannot bear to be parted Stark?"_ Jamie asked with a facetious smile.

Robb and the Kingslayer both knew the reputation of Lord Tywin Lannister was too ferocious and far spread to leave such a valuable piece of bait to the care of any bannermen. If a house was not tempted by the riches of Casterly Rock, then the history of the Reynes or Tarbecks would likely be enough to have the Kingslayer freed. Robb chose not to answer the question. 

Having him by his side ensured that the Kingslayer remained secure. His suffering and the considerable distraction his continued imprisonment generated to Cersei and Lord Tywin Lannister was also a pleasant benefit.

Robb wanted to use the knowledge gained from King Stannis' letter in an attempt to force a confession about the events of Winterfell and King's Landing which had led to so much needless death. He looked for some sort of twitch or spark of fear in the eyes as he told the Kingslayer that Westeros knew he had fathered Cersei's children. His prisoner simply laughed and said, _"Well that's convenient for Stannis. That claim makes him the rightful king."_

The Kingslayer's mocking demeanor aggravated Robb. He craved to see that defiance flicker and die out as the man finally understood that his death was near. With his father and both sisters dead, there was no longer any reason to keep the Kingslayer alive. Retribution for the Lannisters’ many misdeeds could no longer be refused. Yet he needed the truth to pass from the oath breaker's lips at least once before he could be truly satisfied with taking his life.

Robb knew the genuine reason Joffrey executed his father was to keep the truth of his parentage hidden by removing anyone who learned the truth. Jon Arryn had also been murdered for the same secret. All this misery was because of their disgusting relationship.

He was certain Jamie pushed Bran from the tower in Winterfell because his little brother saw the Lannister twins wrapped around one another. The Kingslayer must have realized his frustrations because the prick simply taunted and said, _"Without any proof, all this is just gossip."_

Robb sensed Grey Wind long before the Kingslayer took notice of his direwolf's approach. His loyal companion had stalked through the filth and remained hidden amongst camp belongings so that the Kingslayer would not detect him. Grey Wind had remained silent despite his teeth being exposed in a snarl which never left his mouth.

Only when the disgusting oathbreaker realized the direwolf's presence did Grey Wind make a sound. Robb was astonished by how Grey wind always seemed to pick up on his anger or other emotions, and then reflect such feelings through his actions.

Grey Wind presented an intense desire to kill. He was certain his direwolf would have torn out the Kingslayer's throat immediately had he not run his fingers through Grey Wind's soft fur coat as his companion approached the cage's entrance. Robb knew he would have delighted in the sight, but such satisfaction needed to be delayed momentarily.

For the first time, Robb saw palpable fear in the Kingslayer’s eyes, but he was quick to obscure the honest emotion behind a mask of arrogance. _“I know you won’t actually do anything with that monstrous wolf, so your threats lack any real bite. Your mother would never forgive you if a thirst for blood ruined the chances of seeing her precious daughters ever again.”_

Robb smiled, although it was more a wicked flashing of teeth which assured anguish. _“Your time in a cage has left you ill-informed Kingslayer. My sisters are dead as well as that insufferable bastard Joffrey. There is no longer any reason to keep you as my prisoner. All that is left to be decided is whether I behead you or feed you to my direwolf. Are you ready to speak the truth Kingslayer?”_

The wolfish grin never left Robb’s face as he watched Grey Wind tear into the Kingslayer’s flesh, and listened to the man’s final screams of agony while being devoured alive. The Kingslayer had given him the clarity he craved, but hearing the truth from the criminal’s mouth did little to assuage his rage. Robb tried to take a modicum of comfort in the thought that Sansa, Arya, and his father were one body closer to being avenged for all the Lannisters took from their family.

He left what remained of the Kingslayer amongst the grime of his cage, and allowed Grey Wind to finish his meal. Robb knew what lingered in the morning would be unrecognizable, and reveled in the knowledge.

Soon after, Robb went in search of Theon, hoping his cheerful but crude sense of humor might ease his burdens if but for a moment. He knew his friend would have plenty of japes to make about the fate of the Kingslayer. Unfortunately, his friend was absent for the evening and Robb was in the company of a vassal seeking favor. Theon did not waste a moment to address Robb as his grace, a title he only used in private when there was some request to be made.

Theon wished to be sent to Pyke to speak with his father about bringing the Greyjoy fleet into an alliance to give the North superior strength at sea. Robb knew a fleet of ships would be a tremendous asset to the war, and such an alliance might turn the tide of fighting. An alliance between House Stark and Grejoy could bring forth an early end to the war, but such a request required time to contemplate. Robb sought out Theon to avoid such decisions for the evening. He did not wish to face more.

Robb hoped to end the conversation by reminding Theon that his father had fought against his in the Greyjoy Rebellion. Lord Balon would not likely help the son of the man who had taken his children.

Theon was not deterred however and insisted that his father would listen to his only living son and heir. The words stirred something in Robb, and he was reminded of the sword that had loomed above Theon's head his entire life at Winterfell. There was a reason his father had always kept Theon close.

Theon reminded him that Eddard Stark raised him. Theon knew what it meant to be an honorable man, and together they could avenge Lord Stark. Robb remembered a childhood spent with his best friend Jon, someone that always was on his side. Robb wanted that feeling again and was tempted to grant Theon's request.

Robb left Theon soon after, desperate to be away from another decision. He wandered the camps aimlessly for some time until his feet eventually brought him to his mother's pavilion. The tent was dark and no candles were lit. The only light was the torch burning at the entrance. His mother had probably already gone to bed and he was ready to return to his own tent when he heard a voice. _"Robb..."_ a small broken whisper called out to him.

The call came from his mother. Robb still had trouble reconciling how grief had twisted the voice that had once brought him such nourishment into something foreign. His mother blamed herself for the deaths of Arya and Sansa, and Robb could do nothing to convince her otherwise. He hated himself for his failure and avoided his mother since she had completely unraveled.

His mother had always been there for him to consult for advice, so her transformation had been particularly difficult in a time when he found himself lost in doubt more with each passing day. _"Robb..."_ the voice called again, with more strength, in a tone much more like his mother.

Robb pushed the heavy dark cloth aside and entered the pavilion. The absence of candlelight kept his mother's face in darkness, but when he sat in the chair closest to her, he could see red wet eyes. He took her hand into his when she spoke, _"I'm sorry. I was just thinking of the girls... of Bran and Rickon. I believe it is time for me to return home Robb. The boys need me. I need them."_

Robb could feel his mother's grief in each word. The broken hopelessness of her tone made him wince. The boy in him wanted his mother by his side, but he could no longer indulge that boy. Robb knew it was for the best to let his mother return home so he squeezed her hand and agreed.

Moments of indecision passed before Robb blurted out, _"Theon asked me to send him to Pyke to make an alliance with his father for the Greyjoy fleet. The Ironborn could win us the war, but I'm conflicted. I don't think father would ever trust a man like Balon Greyjoy."_

His mother took several moments to reply. _"No he would not because Balon Greyjoy is untrustworthy. There is a good reason your father has had to keep Theon as a ward all these years. I know you see him as a friend, but the situation is much more complicated than your friendship allows you to see."_

She gave him a stern fixed stare made all the more intimidating by the obvious despair she wore. After a long silence, she said, _"Listen to me Robb. If you trust House Greyjoy, then you will certainly come to regret it. I have no doubt in this. We cannot handle more treachery."_

Theon was his friend, Theon was different he wanted to say, but Robb chose to keep his mouth closed. He knew his mother would not hear of it. His mother ruled beside his father for years, so perhaps she had the right of it. Robb reluctantly agreed with his mother's advice, then spoke of what else had been troubling him in the night. _"Stannis and Renly have sent ravens throughout Westeros proclaiming themselves to be rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms."_

_"I think both of them are forgetting Joffrey has a younger brother."_ His mother replied exhausted and uninterested.

Robb cleared his throat before he spoke again, _"Stannis... he spoke of a letter written to him from father just before his death. It clarifies everything. What Bran saw in that tower that needed to be kept hidden. Why father was executed as a traitor accused of trying to take the throne. It explains the cruelties Joffrey inflicted upon Sansa and Arya.”_

_“We’ve been carrying the answer to all our questions from camp to camp. Stannis' letter was just the last piece of the puzzle we needed to realize it."_

His mother's voice was steel. Gone was the broken tone of earlier when she said the name, _"Jamie Lannister."_

_“I killed him, mother. He confessed to everything, and then I fed him to Grey Wind. I know it was not the honorable thing to do, but with father and the girls gone, I could no longer see any reason to keep him. I have no desire to bargain with Lannisters. Perhaps it was folly, but I cannot bring myself to regret the decision.”_

His mother said nothing, and after an extended silence finally replied. _“Good, it is what the man deserved. Arya’s wolf knew the truth of the Lannisters long before we did. It sensed how rotten Joffrey was and knew what needed to be done. If only Sansa and Arya had not lost their direwolves, then they would still be alive. They were sent by the Old Gods to protect us, the gods of your father, and perhaps the only true gods in this forsaken world.”_

Robb often thought the same thing of the direwolves. There was something exceptional about the bond he shared with Greywind. He never had a chance to ask any of his siblings, but they must have shared a similar connection. Robb placed a kiss upon his mother's forehead and told her he planned to return to his tent for some much-needed sleep. Before he left the pavilion, his mother called to him a final time. _“Robb, keep your direwolf with you at all times, no matter what.”_

Robb gave a brief nod and bid his mother good night. On the way to his tent, Robb thought about one of his father's final actions. His father declared for King Stannis by sending him a letter with the truth about Joffrey and his siblings. Lord Eddard Stark's sense of honor demanded no less than such an action.

But Robb had been crowned a king by his own people and had to think of the North, not the interests of southern rulers. Stannis Baratheon would never recognize the North as an independent kingdom. All the stories his father told of the man spoke to his unyielding nature.

If there was to be any hope for Robb to ensure his kingdom remained independent he would need to forge an alliance with King Renly Baratheon. He was the Baratheon with the men, the amiability to keep the lords content, and the flexibility to allow a proper accord with the North. Together they could make quick work of what remained of Lannister influence and his people could return home where they truly belonged.

Robb knew that with his mother returning home there was only one individual he could send to speak with King Renly. He might not be able to send Theon to Pyke because of what Lord Balon might do with his heir returned, but he could trust his friend and brother to begin the negotiations on his behalf for the possibility of an alliance between two kings.

Tired but determined, Robb called for a squire to fetch Theon and bring him to his pavilion. As Robb stood inside his tent, he realized he still needed to write and send Cersei Lannister a message about the fate of her brother. She needed to understand what her family wrought. Any thoughts of sleep were forgotten and Robb Stark, King in the North, sat at his desk with a quill and paper and wrote.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again readers. I can't imagine anyone being surprised by what happened to Jamie. His death was the first thing I thought of when imagining potential consequences for the story. It may be an obvious idea but hopefully, the chapter is still an interesting one.


	5. Brothers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fair warning, this is the least interesting chapter of the story. I debated even including it, but decided it was important to illustrate that despite all the changes Sansa's death brought, some aspects of the story remain unchanged(for now). I did make some superficial changes to the established canon of this moment for the sake of my own sanity.  
> Since I am mentioning certain aspects remaining unchanged, I would like to take the opportunity to note that Daenerys will not be appearing in this series. Her story is so far removed from the rest of Westeros that I see little reason to include her.

_"Jon! Please you cannot do this!"_ shouted Sam as he raced to the stables of Castle Black red-faced and nearly out of breath.

His first true friend at the Wall made it to the stable entrance before he hunched over desperately gasping to regain his breath. Jon finished securing his supplies and mounted the horse as Samwell Tarly tried again. _"Jon! I-I won't let you!"_

Jon ignored the pleas of his friend and looked past him with an unflinching gaze. He had already convinced himself of his decision before the sun had set, and he would not be swayed now. _"To me Ghost,"_ Jon called out without taking his eyes from the distance. He did not wish to face the desperation in his friend's eyes.

Any other day Jon would have appreciated the concern Samwell showed for those lucky enough to be called his friend. Terrified as he always was, Sam still rushed into the night for the sake of friendship. This was just another moment of many that proved to Jon what he had always known of Samwell Tarly.

Sam’s heart was too big for one man, and it overflowed with compassion and unwavering loyalty. His most valuable aspect was often overlooked by others, but that very quality would make Sam an indispensable member of the Night's Watch someday.

Jon would have loved to have been there to see his friend's transformation from a self-proclaimed craven into a true man of the Night's Watch, but he had another path to travel. Vengeance was a dark murky forest in which love, friendship, and compassion had no purpose. Jon spoke to Sam in a dead tone, _"You need to move aside or I will ride you down Sam."_

Samwell answered by burying his boots even further into the snow-covered dirt. He raised his arms outstretched and tried to reason with Jon. _"Please, you have to liste-"_

Jon kicked the horse to action and ignored whatever Sam was about to say. He knew his friend had a way with words, and he did not wish to be convinced. For a fleeting moment, it actually appeared as if Sam was going to stand his ground just to keep him at Castle Black.

Sam’s fear overcame him, and as Jon’s horse galloped closer, his friend jumped out of the way before he would be struck down. He worried that Sam may have been hurt in the fall, but Jon hesitantly assured himself that Sam would be fine. He could not let anything stop him now.

Jon knew he needed to get as far from the Wall as he could before the dawn. There would be no hiding once the men realized Jon had deserted in the night. If all Sam's shouting had not already alerted others of his escape. He knew everyone at Castle Black would have no trouble guessing where he was headed. Jon fled as fast as his horse would allow.

Following the arrival of a raven bearing the most heartbreaking story of his life, Jon had wept until his body was drained of tears. The hopelessness had devoured him until what remained was hollow. Then rage had started creeping into the voracious void. The urge for violence against those that took Arya, his father, and Sansa from him compelled Jon to abscond in the night. He needed to join the fight in the South.

Despite the furious pace Jon kept, Ghost had no trouble remaining by his side. His direwolf brought forth thoughts of Jeor Mormont and the bequeathed sword he left behind. The white wolf pommel had been made in the likeness of Ghost, at the request of the Lord Commander, after the sword had been damaged by fire in the fight against the wight.

A selfish part of Jon had wanted to take the blade with him. Jon had dreamed of owning his own Valyrian steel since learning as a child he would never be able to carry his father’s sword. But Jon could not bring himself to submit to such avarice.

The Lord Commander’s son Ser Jorah left the sword behind when he fled to exile many years ago, and Jon thought it fitting to follow his example. He was damned now, and though he could not bring himself to be remorseful for riding to avenge his father and sisters, he knew he would regret taking the bastard sword.

The Lord Commander had gifted the sword to Jon thinking he would be someone that could be relied upon, someone that would uphold the values of the Night’s Watch, but Jon had failed the Old Bear. Jon had forsaken his vows.

Despite being lost in thoughts of the consequences of his choice, Jon did not miss the sound of a loud thud followed by a cry of pain in the distance behind him. Jon knew that riders from Castle Black would not already be chasing him because Sam would not have informed the Lord Commander of his desertion.

Sam’s fidelity made Jon absolutely certain of his speculation, but his friend’s loyalty also meant he had followed Jon hoping to bring him back. Jon wanted to convince himself as he did earlier that Sam would be fine, but Ghost had already turned around, so the decision was made for him.

Sam’s horse was nowhere in sight which made Jon certain that it had continued galloping after its rider had fallen off. Jon cursed knowing that without a horse Sam would not be able to return to Castle Black before dawn. He approached his wounded friend who was struggling to rise amid a thick layer of snow.

Sam’s face was marked crimson from where he had collided with a tree branch, but appeared otherwise uninjured. Sam saw Jon approach and with a nervous smile said, _“I have never ridden a horse that fast. I was always too fearful to ride beyond a trot. We were moving so swiftly that I did not even see the branch until after it struck and was suddenly on top of me.”_

Sam waved the broken branch at Jon before he spoke again. _“You haven’t thought your actions through Jon. I know you want to help your family, but you are only going to end up hurting them. What do you think will happen if you are caught by one of your brother’s men?”_

Jon tried to respond, but was cut off by Sam’s disheartened words. _“No one will want to take your head because despite it being the law, they will fear how the act itself might displease your brother. So you will be taken to Winterfell or to Robb himself. The duty of punishment for your desertion will fall to your younger or older brother.”_

Sam gave Jon a long pained look. _“Do you really want to force one of them to take away what little family they have left? Do you truly wish to break your brothers’ hearts?”_

Jon replied in a resentful tone, _“If you had not thought to chase after me, then no one would have an opportunity to catch me. I have the fortitude to make the ride to Robb without being captured. You couldn’t possibly underst-“_

Sam interrupted with an irate reply. “ _I obviously understand more than you Jon Snow. If by some wonder you manage to avoid being arrested for desertion, do you honestly believe your brother will welcome you back with open arms?”_

_“He can never allow you to ride at his side, and you will be putting him in an impossible position. His men will not want to follow a weak boy unable to fulfill his duty, and your brother is in far too precarious of a situation to allow such doubt from bannermen. You cannot be selfish.”_

Sam gave him an anguished sympathetic look. _“I’m truly sorry Jon, but no matter what happens you will be harming your family. Your sisters and father are already gone, so riding off to the South won’t save them. There is only one true choice to be made. You need to return to Castle Black.”_

Tears fell from Jon’s eyes despite his stubborn attempts to forestall them. He was a stubborn fool blinded by his lust for vengeance. Sam was right, just as Jon knew he would be if given the opportunity to speak. He just wanted this anguish to cease. Nothing was ever going to be the same with his sisters and father cruelly taken from the family. 

After a lengthy excruciating silence, Jon accepted what must be done, and held out his hand so Sam could join him on the horse. He told his friend, _“You conquered your fear and risked a lot to save me from my own folly. You may call yourself a craven Samwell Tarly, but I know how brave you truly are. Arya would have been fond of you, and I think she will appreciate that you are now looking after me in her absence.”_

Sam gave Jon a trusting contented smile. _“We may not share the same name Jon Snow, but we are family all the same. I would do anything for you.”_


	6. The Message

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again folks and thank you for continuing to read my story. I had too much stuff for a single Tyrion chapter, so this particular chapter is written from what I couldn't fit in the last one. I hope you enjoy.

Tyrion was angry at his brother, and the poisonous love he shared with their horrible undeserving sister. Tyrion was furious with his father, for somehow predicting Jamie was to be another casualty of the war and doing little to change that fate.

He was irritated with Bran Stark for catching his siblings, and Sansa Stark for condemning his brother to death. Mostly Tyrion was enraged with himself because once again life was beyond his grasp.

His brother had always been there to save him from trouble, but he had been unable to do anything the one time Jamie was in need of rescue. Tyrion arrived at King's Landing through the Gate of the Gods with a scowl on his face and a forlorn heart.

Tyrion desperately wanted to cling to any hope that there might be some small bit of information he was missing that could prevent his family’s collapse. As he looked upon the hungry faces of indignant men and women, Tyrion only saw his murder reflected in their eyes. He could not think and found it difficult to have hope.

Refugees from the Riverlands were being turned from the city at the gates. The streets were overflowing with those that had been lucky enough to get into the city before the gates were sealed. The commonfolk that Tyrion and his party came across in the Cobbler Square stared at his group with open malice and distrust.

He had never seen King's Landing look so unsafe. Tyrion never expected a city in mourning when he returned to King's Landing. Joffrey was a cruel idiot and never made friends, but such flagrant hostility from the commoners was surprising. Tyrion was amongst his clansmen so he knew he would be safe from harm, but he felt more at ease when the retinue arrived at the Red Keep.

He was filthy and exhausted from a long journey. The sun had just started to fall as he traversed the Red Keep, so Tyrion decided to take a room in the Royal Apartments for the night. He knew the Tower of the Hand could not be prepared to his liking so quickly. Tyrion told Bronn to make a trip to the Street of Silk to find him a whore, but not a redhead.

The sellsword demanded gold so he could get a woman for himself if he were to be making a trip in the night to fetch a whore. Tyrion had expected such a typical response from his charming companion and already had the gold in hand. More than enough to get the best from the Street of Silk. 

It was sometime later when he was awoken by an angry impatient pounding at his door. Tyrion was not even given enough time to rise from bed before the door slammed open and his sister strode into his temporary chambers. _"Whore, leave us now. Quickly!"_ Cersei bellowed with agitation.

His sister stood at the foot of the bed with dark circles beneath her eyes. She wore no makeup and her face was unmistakably red from tears. Her eyes, however, burned like wildfire ready to consume the room and all in it. _"What are you doing here creature?"_

 _"Creature? Nice to see you too sister."_ Tyrion responded slowly as he stood on the bed and walked forward to give his sister a kiss on her cheek.

Cersei pushed him back onto the bed causing him to collapse flat on his back. Cersei’s repulsion was written across her face. _"I asked you a question. What are you doing here?"_

Tyrion yawned dramatically, hoping to irritate his sister. He was genuinely exhausted, but the action was feigned because he could not deny himself the small pleasure of annoying Cersei. Such decisions often led to later misfortune, but Tyrion could not rebuff such opportunities even at an inappropriate time.

Tyrion stood and stretched extending the moment for as long as possible before he said, _"Father sent me. The reports he's been receiving of you and Joffrey's actions in the capital had him worried. It seems he was right to be concerned."_

Cersei glared, _"I commanded him to return to King's Landing, not you. When I need someone to distract Stannis or Renly with idiotic japes when they come to kill us, then you may be of use. Otherwise, I do not need or want you here."_

Cersei sighed before she continued, _"How many men has father sent with you? He should have at least done that much. "_

Tyrion rolled his eyes as he replied, _"I came with one hundred and fifty men. Fifty of those men are Lannister soldiers, the rest are my own."_

She shrieked, _"Fifty! That is unacceptable! Father will realize what a mistake he's made sending you to King's Landing once he hears what became of my strong, handsome Joffrey. He'll ride as fast as he can with the entirety of the Westerlands troops to show those traitors the Iron Throne is still ours. Joffrey's death **will be** avenged! I will see the Starks annihilated! **I will not be denied!** "_

Tyrion sighed, _“What do you think our father is doing in the Riverlands, picking flowers and braiding his bannermen's hair? He's fighting the Starks already, in a war which we are losing by the way. I notice you failed to mention Jamie, do you not care about avenging him?"_

Cersei slapped him hard. Her nails left several marks across his cheek. Tyrion ran his hand across his face and felt the scratches as she hissed, _"Avenge him? He is not dead you twisted little fool. I love Jamie, and I would feel it if something happened to him. You couldn’t possibly understand you little monster, because you will never know love.”_

_“Father will spend whatever gold needed to see his son is freed. Robb Stark's own bannermen will betray him and help Jamie escape for the promise of wealth. I have no doubt in this. Gold wins wars.”_

Tyrion's mouth fell open in shock and an ugly snort escape him, _"Are you a complete fool Cersei? I heard the news of Sansa Stark when I was on the kingsroad more than a fortnight ago. No doubt news has reached the Stark camp already. Are you in denial or do you honestly believe Jamie still draws breath when the Starks know their princesses are dead? We lost our leverage that kept Jamie safe."_

The fire in Cersei's eyes died then, but still, she responded. _"They would never kill Jamie, even if that traitorous boy wishes it. The northern lords know that our father will see the North burn for murdering his son. Many lords will realize the wrath of the mighty Tywin Lannister is not worth killing Jamie especially when one of those lords could be handsomely rewarded for returning him.”_

Tyrion was drained and he did not have the strength to argue further with his sister, so he shrugged and said, _"We shall see."_

They had their answer when Lord Quenten Banefort arrived at King's Landing weeks later. The lord had been captured at the Whispering Wood, but was released by Robb Stark with a message for the Queen Regent. The message had been transported in a small carved wooden box with a Stark direwolf engraved at the top. The container had a scattering of fragmented bones that appeared to have been gnawed at. A rolled parchment was placed at the top of the pile.

The message was addressed to the royal brother fucker and stated:

_I have received news of the death of my sisters at the hands of your family. Seventeen years ago a different royal dynasty was responsible for the murder of my father's family. My father along with those he called friends and loyal bannermen destroyed that three-hundred-year-old dynasty filled with madness and incest in response to these crimes._

_It seems I am destined to follow in my father's footsteps, although I am not the merciful man he was. I will see the Lannister family torn limb by limb until all that remains is an unrecognizable mess of bloody flesh. From this day forward until the end of time the North will be a free and independent people. Our last act in the South will be to depose a family that has no right to any throne._

_The North does this to honor our betrayed and fallen kin at King's Landing. I do this to avenge my brother that was crippled and my father and sisters who were killed because of the secret you and your brother so desperately wished to keep hidden._

_Westeros will know the truth of the abominations you call children. In the final moments of your lover's life, the Kingslayer admitted to being the true father of all your children. He confessed of how he pushed my brother from the tower window in a cowardly attempt to keep your crimes hidden._

_To be separated from the ones you love forever is a cruel fate, so allow me to offer this small kindness before I see you dead. I give you a reunion with your brother and lover. In the box, you will find what remains of the Kingslayer._

_My direwolf was hungry for Lannister blood. You will soon learn that he is not alone. The entirety of the North is ravenous for Lannister blood._

_Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell, King in the North._


	7. The Fool That Wished to be King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I definitely had fun trying to get into Theon's head to write this particular chapter. I hope y'all enjoy it!

Drunken shouts of excitement and spirited singing surrounded the camp. The smell of cooked boar and chicken from thousands of cookfires clouded the air leaving a delectable scent as he followed behind Ser Colen. Theon Greyjoy had never seen anything quite so immense in his life, and he never imagined a war camp could be so festive.

The assembled men of the Reach and the Stormlands knew their victory was inevitable. These knights had nothing to fear and much to celebrate. They would have their king on the Iron Throne soon enough, and as Theon walked further through the camps he became certain of the fact.

Colossal pavilions towered over men along the road, and amidst the tents, there were dozens of house banners he could not recognize among many others that were familiar. Everywhere he looked there seemed to be innumerable people crowded together. Theon was escorted through the largest gathering of men who were passionately watching two knights dueling in a tournament melee.

Ser Colen of Greenpools stopped before a crafted wooden dais and Theon Greyjoy was given his first glimpse of King Renly Baratheon, who was enjoying the fight with everyone else. The king appeared much like the image Theon had conjured in his head whenever he had been told stories of the late King Robert Baratheon, although that illusion had been destroyed when he finally saw the man at Winterfell.

Renly Baratheon was what a king should look like, and his queen was definitely a woman worthy of the title. The brown-haired beauty shined brighter than Cersei Lannister and had breasts twice as intoxicating. She had an easy inviting smile that did not give the impression that she would burn you to ashes if you strayed too close.

This woman would definitely be a queen beloved by her people. One sparkling grin and Theon was half in love himself. He could not stop envisioning those loose chestnut curls tousled across her pale naked chest as she lay in bed waiting for him.

Each time the silver-plated knight struck the other warrior the exquisite queen gifted all surrounding her with a gorgeous smile. Theon found himself cheering for the silver knight as well just to watch another radiant expression blossom from the queen. Unfortunately the cobalt knight managed to tackle the silver knight and put a dagger to his throat winning the match. It seemed the only individual not disappointed by the result of the fight was King Renly Baratheon.

The king called forth the winner to the dais and asked the knight to remove his helm. When the knight complied Theon realized that the cobalt warrior was actually a woman. The ugliest wench Theon had ever laid eyes upon, but still one none the less. At the request of the hulking woman, King Renly added Brienne of Tarth to his Rainbow Guard.

Theon frowned in distaste at the idea of some wench serving as Kingsguard, but he supposed that if you looked like Brienne, there wasn't much an ugly girl could do but try and pretend to be a man. No one would ever love or marry Brienne of Tarth no matter who her father might be.

After the announcement Ser Colen stepped forward to approach the wooden platform and announced to king and queen that he was presenting Theon Greyjoy, an envoy of Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell. _"And King in the North"_ added Theon smugly.

King Renly Baratheon wore an amused smile in response to Theon, but did not comment on the outburst. Instead King Renly introduced his queen, Margaery of House Tyrell, who offered Theon a cheerful grin and a warm welcome. Once more Theon was lost to lustful thoughts of a bare-skinned brown-haired beauty.

A third unknown voice broke Theon from his reverie, and he turned behind him realizing he was being asked a question by the silver knight from the duel. _"So will Robb Stark be marching against Tywin Lannister?"_

Theon paused awkwardly for a moment, and hoped none present realized his mind had been elsewhere before answering. _"King Robb has other plans in place to ensure the suffering of Tywin Lannister, but his time will come, just like the rest of them."_

A few cheers were unleashed by talk of dead Lannisters. King Renly waited a moment for the cheers to cease before he asked Theon, _"Jamie Lannister, I heard he was captured by Robb Stark. What does he plan to do with the Kingslayer?"_

Theon Greyjoy wore a feral grin thinking of what had become of the Kingslayer and could not suppress his bloodthirsty expression as he answered the king. _"The Kingslayer is dead. King Robb fed him to his direwolf as a lesson to the Lannisters. It was punishment for what has befallen his family at their hands.”_

_“The Kingslayer’s death is a promise. The North will not take Lannister prisoners. We are only interested in Lannister corpses. The North and its people will see House Lannister removed from existence."_

King Renly Baratheon shifted awkwardly in his chair for a moment which provided an opportunity to conceal his shocked expression. He chuckled and said, _"Well everyone here will agree with Robb Stark, the only good Lannister is a dead one. It seems the wolf is more fearsome than the lion."_

The king rose from his throne, kissed Queen Margaery on the cheek, and turned to Theon. _"Come take a walk with me Lord Greyjoy, I think the two of us have much to discuss."_

As they walked among the camps King Renly made small talk and greeted various people they encountered, but Theon knew the true purpose of his tour was to show the power of his vast army. Renly even casually threw into conversation that he had with him one hundred thousand men who would see him on the throne. The power King Renly Baratheon wielded illustrated he was not a man to cross.

_"I really don't mind if Robb Stark continues to call himself King in the North as long as he still swears fealty to me as High King of Westeros. He will need my help to see that the promise to his people is kept and the world is rid of Lannisters. That is why he sent you to forge an alliance."_

King Renly Baratheon gave Theon a searching look before he continued speaking. _"My interest however is not just in the North. I would like to discuss the future of the Iron Islands, and yours as well Lord Greyjoy."_

_"With my help the Iron Islands could once again have a king, and perhaps a larger kingdom. I would like you to be that king, Theon Greyjoy. Your father Balon may still be Lord of the Iron Islands, but he is trapped in the past and I am looking to the future. You are his only son and heir, the future of House Greyjoy. He will surely step down to allow you your rightful place, after all, how can he refuse you when you return to Pyke a king."_

Renly paused once more, _"Of course like Robb Stark you will swear fealty to me as High King of Westeros and help me destroy my enemies, but I think it is a small price to pay to return to your home as a King. You have a choice Theon Greyjoy, spend your life as the servant of your boyhood friend Robb Stark or stand as his equal, a king."_

They stopped before a tent and King Renly gestured to it, _"I had men ready this pavilion for your stay while we were walking. I'm sure everything will be to your liking. There will be a feast tonight and I would like you to join. Rest for a bit and relax before the festivities. Think of what we discussed, and we shall speak more on the subject tonight."_

The king quickly departed and Theon was left in a daze. He could be a king, he could finally return home, and he would accomplish what his father could not. For the first time in his life, he would be Robb's equal.

Theon thought he would have to be a fool to pass up such an offer, and so decided that his life would be changing very soon. Theon Greyjoy soon shut his eyes for a few moments and dreamed of returning home a hero. His father was proud and called him son, and his mother hugged him dearly with tears streaming down her face.

Sometime later a servant awoke him and escorted him to King Renly’s pavilion. Theon had considered his tent to be extravagantly well furnished, but it was plain compared to the massive pavilion Renly was using for the evening’s feast.

The party had fools, tumblers, and singers to entertain the guests. Many of the cooked meats Theon had smelled earlier were now on the table to be enjoyed, and he wasted no time feasting upon more than his fill of wine and food.

After he had gotten intoxicated on food and drink Theon relaxed into his chair and focused his attention on those around him. The two brothers of House Willum were arguing over who would be the first over the walls of King's Landing. A few of the lords were fondling serving girls or singing drunkenly with the bards. There was even a monkey sitting on the shoulder of a knight being fed scraps from the knight's plate.

King Renly Baratheon's attentions seemed entirely focused on the knight Ser Loras Tyrell. The two laughed loudly at jokes being shared amongst themselves. With the king's eyes elsewhere Theon's gaze wandered to Queen Margaery and he admired how remarkable she looked in the attire she chose for the evening.

Theon was staring intently at Queen Margaery's breasts and how they almost spilled out of her dress when he heard the sound of King Renly's voice and realized that he was being addressed. _"Have you thought on what we were discussing earlier?"_

Theon floundered for a moment wondering if he had been caught. He was ready to answer when a messenger made his way into the pavilion and told King Renly that his brother had arrived nearby requesting to meet with his brother. King Renly excused himself from the party. Ser Loras and the other knights of the Rainbow Guard accompanied their king.

Their departure left Theon Greyjoy in the company of King Renly’s wife. He was not sure if it was the wine, but her smile that seemed so cheerful and innocent before, now looked predatory. Had she seen him staring his eyes filled with lust? Theon nervously gulped in fear as she began to speak. _"My dear husband told me something about you earlier Lord Greyjoy"_

Her eyes unblinking and staring intently focused on his own. When she did not continue speaking Theon managed to choke out, _"Uh… h-he did your grace?"_

Queen Margaery smiled delightfully. _"Oh yes! He told me that you and Robb Stark have been best friends since you were boys. No wonder he trusted you on such an important mission in the South."_

Theon beamed with pride, yes he was very important, and soon he would be a king. Queen Margaery continued on. _"You must have been close with Sansa Stark as well. Like everyone in Westeros I have heard all about the brave Lady Sansa and the sacrifice she made to rid us of an awful tyrant king. She showed us all how strong-willed the Starks are, and I am certain her tale will live on forever.”_

Theon nodded dumbly unwilling to interrupt the queen. _"I have learned so much about Lady Sansa recently, but King Robb Stark remains such a mystery. Much of what I have heard sounds fabricated. I have been told that a massive wolf runs by the king’s side during battles feasting on the flesh of the North's enemies.”_

_“The entire thing seemed like such a ridiculous lie until you told us that Ser Jamie Lannister was fed to such a creature. You are his best friend, surely you can tell me about the real King in the North. You must tell me."_

Theon Greyjoy took a long drink, finishing what wine remained in his cup. The action hid the grimace that had formed from her words. Women were always more interested in Robb. It seemed some things would never change. Still, he told the queen all he knew of Robb. Theon was besotted with her beauty and would do almost anything to remain in her company.

King Renly returned sometime later, and his queen departed from their conversation to learn what had happened at the parley with Stannis Baratheon. Theon Greyjoy wandered from the feast to the camps outside. He found himself a curly brown-haired Flowers and took her to his pavilion with his mind occupied by a different beauty.

After his entertaining distraction Theon gently removed the girl still wrapped around him, rose from bed, and went outside for a piss. The river was not far from his tent so Theon amused himself by making water into the river rather than using the chamber pot.

He was so distracted by the sound of his urine hitting the water that he never noticed the skiff approaching until it was too late. The last thing he heard before the world around him dimmed to nothingness was, _"You see Onion knight, I told you The Lord of Light had one more gift for us tonight."_

Theon could not see but spoke to the voices. _“No! You can't! I am going to be a king.”_


	8. Severing the Smallest Extremity

Despite the death of King Joffrey the city continued on as if their king had not been murdered. Even though Tyrion had lost his beloved brother life progressed forward uncaring of his feelings. Only Cersei seemed transformed by the recent tragedies, gone was the blazing hellkite he had known his whole life. His sister had been abnormally reticent since they had received their brother’s desecrated remains, but Tyrion recognized that something sinister was lurking in the silence. He could do little but wait until the maelstrom of malevolence was unleashed.

Little Tommen was crowned the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm by the High Septon. Tommen was much too young to rule, so Tyrion was left with onerous duties as Hand of the King. His days were long and he got very little sleep, so wine was his dependable companion in demanding times.

Tyrion was enjoying a rare opportunity for an extended period of slumber when he awoke tangled in the silk sheets of his bed because of tapping at his bedchamber door. The pillows surrounding him still held the scent of spiceflower and cinnamon from the woman that had shared his bed the previous night. For a moment Tyrion ignored the knocking, he avoided the world. Tyrion took a moment to pretend his day would not be staggering before he answered.

_"Come in Pod."_ He called. Tyrion knew only Podrick Payne could produce such an awkward rhythm to his knocking.

The door slowly creaked open with a loud groan, and his faithful squire stumbled after tripping on his own feet as he entered the room. _"Mm-my lord Bronn has arrived to escort you to meet with Lord Baelish,"_ the boy choked out.

The name made his eyes sharpen dangerously. It was time to begin repaying all those responsible for Jamie, starting with the scheming prick Littlefinger. As the fog of Tyrion's vengeful thoughts slowly dispelled, his dimly lit chambers once again came into focus.

From the flickering light of melted candles he noticed Podrick staring and waiting. Tyrion realized that he had yet to respond to Pod. _"Good. Tell Bronn I'll be down in a moment. Oh and Pod, Make sure he doesn't kill anyone before I arrive."_

Podrick's skin turned a sickly shade, and the boy simply gave the tiniest of nods before he practically whispered his response, _"Yes, my lord."_

Tyrion laughed at the poor boy who thought he was serious. _"Oh don't look at me like that Pod. I'm only joking."_

He gave his squire a wild grin. _"Bronn only kills who I tell him to. No doubt Bronn is simply helping himself to whatever food and wine he can find while he waits on me. Go make sure there is a goblet of Arbor gold for me when I arrive. You can help yourself to whatever food and wine Bronn has not already consumed."_

Tyrion thought he saw the specter of a smile on Podrick's face before the boy quickly responded and was out the door. Tyrion gave a long sigh as his chamber door closed with a gentle thud. Tyrion hopped from the bed, the crimson sheets fell with him to the cold stone floor, and surrounded his feet. He kicked the bundle of red fabric and made his way to the table.

A bowl filled with water had been left for him the previous night. Tyrion splashed his face several times with the brisk revitalizing liquid before he ran his wet hands through bedraggled hair.

He considered what he would wear for the day before making his way to the wardrobe. He felt something ostentatious would be advantageous for what he had planned. His chambers soon became a clutter of fine cloth and breeches as he searched for the right outfit.

He arrived at his private audience chambers dressed in his finest. Tyrion adjusted his sleeves thinking that murder didn’t always need to be done wearing black cloaks in the dead of night to be done well. The gaudiness of such an outfit combined with meeting Littlefinger at his own building would lull this devious creature into a false sense of security.

As Tyrion expected, Bronn was seated at the table feasting on eggs, bread, and… _"Is that my Arbor gold you're drinking!?"_ He shouted annoyed.

Bronn responded with a smug grin, _"Podrick the good lad brought some while I was eating. Don't get me wrong, I like sweet plum wine just fine, but it's no Arbor gold."_

Tyrion gave his sellsword a reproachful look that went completely ignored by the brigand. _"You're dressed like a proper little lord this morning; I liked the shadowskin cloak and hand axe better though."_

He gave a long sigh in response. _"Don't keep bringing up that fucking cloak. You know how annoyed I was to have it taken during my stay at the Eyrie. One more thing I need to repay Lady Lysa Arryn for."_

A cold humorless laugh escaped Tyrion. _"Although I suppose today could be considered recompense."_

Tyrion adorned a smile to match his laugh, _"Besides, I'm Hand of the King now. The Small Council and everyone else needs to see how seriously I take the job. It is only fitting that I dress the part.”_

Tyrion, Bronn, and a few of the mountain clansmen walked to the finest brothel of the many owned by Baelish for the meeting. The building had an extravagance that other brothels in King's Landing seemed to lack, but like all other places on the Street of Silk, the smell of sex and sweat permeated the air no matter how many candles or scented oil lamps were lit.

He was told Baelish was already waiting for him, and a wonderfully voluptuous woman escorted him and Bronn to Littlefinger’s private chambers. Tyrion was the first to speak upon entering, " _Lord Baelish, thank you for allowing me the use of your private chambers to meet with you. There are ears everywhere in King's Landing as you know, and this is something that the queen mustn't know."_

Littlefinger gave a polite nod in response and said with a smirk, _"And she won't."_

Tyrion nodded and continued, _"Good. You see I plan to wed the Princess Myrcella to Lord Robin Arryn of the Vale. Lady Lysa is not very fond of me, but I'm hoping the promise of a royal match might convince her to move past her misgivings.”_

Baelish gave an incredulous laugh, _"She imprisoned you, tried to execute you, and you wish to offer her a princess."_

Tyrion thought how Lady Lysa had done such things because of lies and schemes Littlefinger had initiated. He gestured to the necklace of linked hands and answered, _"For men of our positions holding grudges can be an encumbrance that prevents us from the performance of our duties."_

The inquisitive beady eyes of Petyr Baelish met his own for a moment, searching for what was hidden beneath. _"And I suppose you want me to broker this agreement?"_

The snake rubbed the hair on his chin in thought, _"I **can** sing this song to Lysa, and she would listen I have no doubt. But what's in it for me?"_

Tyrion grinned knowing he could mollify the prick’s focus by appealing to his greed. _"The gratitude of the people of Westeros, the adoration of your king, and oh of course Harrenhal."_

Baelish looked genuinely confused. _"I thought Janos Slynt was Lord of Harrenhal?"_

_"Joffrey died before he could sign the papers officially making Janos a lord so Harrenhal remains unclaimed."_

_"Besides didn't you hear? Lord Slynt had too much wine and took a drunken tumble_ _down some stairs. He won’t be complaining."_

Petyr Baelish scoffed, _"Just further proof of the Harrenhal curse."_

Tyrion laughed and gave the snake a belittling look in return. _"I’m surprised Lord Baelish, surely you aren't superstitious enough to believe in curses? It's not like you cannot have the castle knocked down and a new one rebuilt anyways. You will certainly be able to afford it once I name you Lord Paramount of the Riverlands."_

Tyrion saw the gleam of greed he had been hoping for. _“I need you to deliver_ _Lysa Arryn. There is no one else suited to the task. Will you do this?"_

The bastard nodded and Tyrion had enough of the farce. _"Good and remember a Lannister always pays his debts."_

Littlefinger did not even have time to truly comprehend why Tyrion had made the famous statement before a dagger was protruding from his chest and a torrent of red water went gushing from the wound. Baelish fell to the floor desperately clawing at the knife, then tried to slither across the carpet seeking aid, but there was none, and Petyr Baelish was dead in moments.

Tyrion Lannister turned to Bronn and said in a tone full of excitement, _"That was an amazing shot! I can't believe you managed to throw the knife and hit his heart clear across his chambers like that. You sneaky bastard Bronn, I imagine he forgot you were even in the chambers with us.”_ Tyrion laughed for several long moments uncontrollably before he could regain his composure.

Tyrion wiped the tears from his eyes and said to Bronn with a smirk on his face, _"Well I suppose this makes me the proud new owner of a few brothels."_

Bronn returned his grin and asked the only question that mattered to the sellsword, _"So does that mean I don't have to pay for my women anymore?"_

Tyrion could not help but laugh once more. _“This is why you are quickly becoming my closest companion.”_

The clansmen slaughtered what remained of Littlefinger’s guard while Tyrion calmed the women of the brothel and let them know they were now under new management. Bronn went on his own to prepare Littlefinger for travel to the Red Keep for his final small council meeting.

It was late afternoon when the members of the Small Council slowly arrived for the daily meeting. Tyrion had been waiting for some time with the severed heads of Janos Slynt and Petyr Baelish to keep him company. Their eyes were open and unseeing. Grand Maester Pycelle was the first to notice the heads, and let loose an indignant shriek. _"What madness is this!?"_

Varys showed only the slightest bit of discomfort momentarily before appearing unaffected. Tyrion Lannister grinned to the two Small Council members and gestured to the empty chairs. _"Please take a seat."_

The men reluctantly acquiesced with his request. _"My father sent me here to act as Hand of the King in his stead to rid King's Landing of those that would see it misruled. This is a position I intend to take quite seriously, and I'd like this to serve as a reminder of that fact."_

Tyrion gestured to the heads. _"It does not matter who you are, you will serve and obey, or you will be dead. I have no tolerance for those that would betray me. There will be no warning beyond this, there will be no negotiating, and there will be no mercy. Hurt me or my family and I will kill you. This is a promise."_

Tyrion paused for a moment to let the men truly absorb his warning and then spoke. _"Now then, shall we get started?"_

The Grand Maester coughed, clearly uncomfortable and unwilling to speak. His eyes cast to the floor and his body turned from the head. The Master of Whisperers did not share the same problem and was quick to get started on the first item of the meeting. "My lord, a message from your father arrived earlier today. He has commanded that we begin preparations for your wedding and the arrival of your betrothed.

Tyrion Lannister's body went slack. He was completely stupefied. _“MY WHAT!?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if I wrote so much more Tyrion material compared to the others because he is my favorite character or he was simply in the best position for the story I wanted to tell lol. 
> 
> As you can see Tyrion is much more bloodthirsty and less pragmatic after the death of his favorite sibling. All that resentment and helplessness had to have some kind of outlet. Hopefully, he will be ready to handle the inevitable consequences of indulging his desire for revenge. There was certainly a reason canon Tyrion did not kill Baelish despite very much wanting to.


	9. The True Gods

Catelyn Stark was finally returning home to her little boys, but she was uncertain if they would recognize the woman she had become. So much of her had been scraped away by heartache. Nevertheless, she was alleviated by thoughts of home and family. Her oldest son had provided an armored escort of sixty men to take her to Seagard. Among the soldiers she was accompanied by was the lord of Seagard, Ser Jason Mallister, and his son Patrek. The two men were kind and courteous, but sensing her grief, did not attempt any true conversation.

Despite the chaos tearing apart the Riverlands, the group traveled through the lands without being accosted. Seeing her homeland in such a state of dilapidation wounded her, but she could not bring herself to pray to the Seven. Catelyn had seen no confirmation of their existence in the many moons of horror and thought even if the new gods were watching, they were cruel, uncaring, and unworthy of her prayers.

The journey gave Catelyn an abundance of time to reflect on everything she had lost since the day King Robert Baratheon had arrived at Winterfell. The destruction of most of her family had left Catelyn in such a state of desolation that she no longer had conviction in her belief of the new gods. How could the Faith exist when such an evil family was allowed to rule under their blessing?

However, with each passing day, Catelyn became certain of the old gods existence. Unlike the Seven, she had proof of them for quite some time, although she had long chosen to ignore it. She had felt the old gods every time she visited her sweet loving husband in the godswood of Winterfell. She witnessed the power of them when her children returned home with a direwolf pup for each member of House Stark, even the bastard.

Catelyn recognized their omen of a shattered antler lodged in the throat of the pups’ parent but chose not to listen. The gods of the North were the true gods, and cared for those of the North. Catelyn heard the howling of wolves and knew the gods were acknowledging her thoughts.

As their entourage drew nearer to Seagard the sounds of wolves became more pronounced. Some of the men were unnerved, but Catelyn felt an inexplicable pull calling her to the ruins of Oldstones where the howling seemed to originate. Despite the protests of Lord Mallister or his insistence that she take his son as an escort, Catelyn rode to the ruined castle on her own.

Once she arrived at the ravaged stronghold Catelyn was forced to dismount and walk through uneven hills, overgrown weeds, and broken walls. The ruins were eerily silent but Catelyn felt completely at peace. She knew the gods were watching over this area.

Catelyn had her confirmation not much later when she arrived at the godswood of Oldstones. Resting peacefully at the base of the heart tree was a large direwolf. She immediately recognized the grey fur of the direwolf that once belonged to her daughter Arya.

With tears streaming down her face Catelyn called to the last piece of her daughter that remained in the world. _“Nymeria, come here girl. It’s me, Arya’s mother. I know the gods have sent you to this place so we could reunite.”_

The direwolf lifted its head from the grass, and intelligent golden eyes peered at Catelyn. Nymeria trotted to her side and licked Catelyn’s injured hand. In response, she knelt down and hugged the wolf tenderly as if Nymeria were her daughter that she would never get to hold again.

Catelyn closed her eyes and lost herself in memories of wild little Arya. When she finally could bring herself to return to the world Catelyn realized she and Nymeria were being watched by dozens of eyes. The many wolves howled at once, and after a brief moment Nymeria joined in, the loudest of all. 

Catelyn returned to her escort with Nymeria by her side, and although she could not see them, she knew the wolves were near. The men had long gotten used to seeing Grey Wind, but the sight of Catelyn with a great grey wolf left them stunned. She gently smiled and told Ser Jason, _“This is my daughter’s direwolf Nymeria, and she will be joining me on the voyage home.”_

At Seagard the group rested for two days before preparing for the journey to the North. Catelyn, Patrek Mallister, and four others were to travel on a ship to Torrhen’s Square. With Catelyn on her way home safely, Lord Mallister and the rest of the armored escort would return to her son in the Riverlands.

Although the men were unaware, Catelyn knew they would be accompanied by the many wolves that would be joining the fight against the Lannisters. The gods were doing their best to look after her son in the treacherous South. The rest of Westeros would soon understand the power of the old gods.

The voyage home was uneventful and Nymeria handled the travel by boat surprisingly well despite it being her first time on the water. No one would suspect Nymeria had spent many moons in the wilderness because of her placid temperament. Catelyn spent her time brushing Nymeria’s coat, singing to the direwolf, and telling stories of Arya’s past.

Patrek found it strange that she could spend so long conversing with an animal, but Catelyn knew Nymeria understood. By the end of their crossing, Catelyn felt bonded eternally to her daughter’s direwolf, and knew Nymeria would forever be her faithful companion and protector. Catelyn may have been born in the South, but she was of the North now.

When the boat docked at Torrhen’s Square, she was greeted by the castellan Leobald Tallhart. The young man had a small feast prepared in her honor, and although she was eager to leave the castle so she could return home, Catelyn graciously accepted his hospitality. She ate very little but made polite idle conversation with those in attendance. Catelyn even indulged Nymeria by giving her two whole chickens to eat. The great direwolf was satisfied and slept soundly with her in the chambers that night. Catelyn forced herself to sleep, eagerly hoping for the sun to rise quickly.

The next morning Catelyn thanked Patrek Mallister for returning her to the North and assured him that she would be fine continuing the last portion of the journey by herself. She had Nymeria with her, and the direwolf was all the protection needed. The gods were watching over her now. Catelyn then thanked Leobald for his warm reception, asked if she could take one of his quickest horses, bid farewell to all, and then expeditiously rode to her family. 

It was early in the afternoon when Catelyn spotted Castle Cerwyn in the distance. Although Catelyn would not be stopping at the seat of House Cerwyn, she knew the sight of the stronghold meant it would only be half a day’s ride to Winterfell. She was both excited and restless at the thought of having her little boys in her arms again. She worried that little Rickon might not remember her and that Bran might be mad that she had not been there when he awoke. Nymeria rubbed up against her side comforting Catelyn, and so she tried to suppress her doubts.

Catelyn stopped at a stream not much later to allow her horse to drink from the water before they began the final trek to Winterfell. Nymeria stepped away to hunt for a meal, and Catelyn took a moment to enjoy the cold climate of the North. She was surprised to have missed the sting of the cold. After the horse had drunk its fill, Catelyn was waiting for Nymeria to return when she heard the sound of hounds barking and someone approaching. 

An unsightly young man with the pale eyes of Lord Roose Bolton smiled at her. _"I am having such a great day. The whore I was hunting since last night gave a great chase and made it all the way to the White Knife. You'd be amazed at how rare a satisfying chase is. I think she may have gotten the farthest yet."_

The man laughed to himself for a moment before continuing, _"I'm really going to have to get her name from the other whores. She certainly deserves to have a bitch named after her."_

He paused for a moment, _"Anyways, What was I saying? Oh yes, I was having such a wonderful hunt, and just when I thought it was over and time to return home I saw you and your horse by the water. I thought to myself can this day possibly get any better?"_

The young man gave her a sadistic grin. _“These two fine bitches are Jez and Maude. You will be getting to know them quite well so-“_

Catelyn watched with fascination as Nymeria appeared from nowhere and tore the man to shreds, prematurely ending his statement. The terrified hounds quickly scattered far from their former master as both Catelyn and Nymeria were coated in blood and viscera. She did not mind the gore and only saw it as further proof of the gods’ protection. Catelyn allowed Nymeria to enjoy her newfound meal, and then washed herself and the direwolf in the stream before they resumed the journey to Winterfell.

Catelyn could not stop smiling as the massive grey walls of Winterfell came into sight. After what felt like ages she was finally home. Nymeria appeared just as elated as Catelyn felt because the direwolf could not stop wagging its tail and excitedly hopping around her as they approached the castle. Soon the great main gates were opening and the drawbridge was being lowered. She expected to see her son’s faces waiting for her, and indeed they were at the gate smiling, but what she had not anticipated was seeing the face of a daughter she thought gone forever.

Her precious little Arya ran to Catelyn with fathomless speed shouting “ _Mother! Mother! Mother!”_ and was wrapped around her in an instant. Catelyn wept tears of pure bliss and wonder hoping this moment was not a dream. Her youngest daughter wiped the tears from Catelyn’s eyes ignoring the ones falling from her own and said, _“I knew Nymeria would save you from that evil monster. She defended you just like she protected me from Joffrey. I’m so glad you are both back home where you belong.”_

Catelyn was astounded by the power of her daughter’s connection to the direwolf, but did not question it. Despite Robb never speaking of it, Catelyn knew how he and Grey Wind often seemed to share emotions. She had seen his direwolf act many times without her son having to give a command. It appeared that even though separated, Nymeria and Arya were still deeply bonded. This was just another of the many signs of the old gods watching over her family.

Bran, Hodor, and Rickon soon joined Arya in the embrace. Catelyn was overjoyed to be engulfed by so many of her loving children. She had not felt such overwhelming tenderness in too long. Catelyn noticed that the three direwolves were having a reunion of their own. She smiled at the gentleness between littermates and acknowledged her children’s protectors were family too. House Stark was bigger than she had realized.

Catelyn thought of her poor Sansa who had lost her sweet direwolf, and her beloved Ned who went South without any protection from the old gods. Their reach was limited in the South, and thus without some connection, they could do little to help her unfortunate husband and daughter.

Catelyn guided her children to the godswood of Winterfell, and as they made the short trip, Arya told Catelyn of how she found her way home. On the horrible day of her husband’s unjust execution, a member of the Night’s Watch rescued her daughter, cut her hair, and disguised her as a boy joining the other recruits. Because the brothers of the Watch take no part in the affairs of the realm, the group was able to travel to Winterfell safely. Catelyn promised her daughter that she would repay Yoren and the other men of the Night's Watch for their priceless service to House Stark. 

Despite the heartache flowing within her because of the losses of Sansa and Ned, Catelyn was imbued with a sense of strength due to her reunion with Arya, Bran, and Rickon. Catelyn felt a renewal of spirit that gave her astonishing clarity. She had no doubt that the gods of the North were the only true gods, and beneath the heart tree of Winterfell made a vow to abandon the Faith of the Seven. House Stark would endure. The true gods would make sure of it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll admit killing off Ramsay was random and indulgent of me, but it seemed strangely fitting in a story where the reoccurring theme is people giving in to their desire for revenge. I gave myself an opportunity to act on my own feelings for all Ramsay put me through lol. He is a great villain, but I like moving forward from this point with three of the biggest antagonists of ASOIAF already gone. This will hopefully give me a chance to think outside of the box in future writings and create something interesting. 
> 
> This is the end of this particular story, but don't worry the series is far from finished. I chose to end part one here because I felt I had a sufficient opportunity to explore the immediate consequences of Sansa's death, as well as establishing an alternate timeline that I can play with in future stories. I also chose to end part one with this chapter because the next few entries in this series will not be following the alternating POVs of many characters typical of ASOIAF. Instead of focusing on all of Westeros at once, I will be concentrating on smaller regions in stories that only utilize one or two POVs per story. 
> 
> The first of these short stories will be a Sandor & Cersei revenge tale. Sandor managed to escape Cersei's fury when he fled from King's Landing, but she has not forgotten him. This story is inspired by a particular event in the life of Tytos Lannister, where he found himself caught between a hungry lioness and her prey. In my story, Cersei Lannister is the hungry lioness, Sandor is the prey, and Tyrion is the poor unfortunate soul trapped in between them. 
> 
> I will be gone for a bit while I organize the scattered thoughts in my head and write a rough draft for the next story. I am doing this because I want to be able to provide a consistent release schedule once I post the first chapter. I am very grateful to everyone who took the time to read The Death of Sansa Stark and I hope y'all will be back when I return with the new story.


End file.
